•-V  I  V- ' 


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rgan 


IN  MEMOmAJA 
W.Scott   Thomas 


PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 


PSYCHOLOGY 


FOR 


TEACHERS 


By  C.  LLOYD  MORGAN 

PRINCIPAL   OF    UNIVERSITY    COLLEGE,    BRISTOL 


WITH  A   PR  11  FACE  BY 

HENRY   W.    JAMESON 

ASSOCIATE    SUPERINTENDENT    OF   SCHOOLS,    NEW    YORK    CITY 


NEW  YORK 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
.  1898 


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• 


*      •  • 


•    * 


»••  •  t       .      >      • 


V 


7      H. 


EDUCATION  DEPT, 


CONTENTS. 


(-•MAP.  PAfJE 

I.    STATES   OF  CONSCIOUSNESS 1 

II.    ASSOCIATION 2:1 

III.  EXPERIENCE 47 

IV.  PERCEPTION 09 

V.    analysis    AND  GENERALIZATION 98 

VI.    DE8CBIPTION    AND    EXPLANATION 115 

VII.    MENTAL   DEVELOPMENT ] 

VIII.    l.AN(.rA<E    AND   THOUGHT 160 

IX.    LITERATURE 185 

X.   CHARACTER  AND  CONDUCT 210 

NOTES 2 

INDEX 237 


PREFACE 


The  present  volume  was  written  to  meet  the  re- 
quirements of  those  who  came  to  the  author  to  receive 
aid  in  preparing  themselves  for  the  profession  of 
teaching  ;  and  the  warm  reception  accorded  it  hy 
teachers,  both  in  England  and  in  this  country,  proves 
that  its  publication  has  done  much  to  popularize  the 
study  of  Educational  Psychology. 

In  the  treatment  of  the  subject,  no  topic  has  been 
touched  upon  which  has  not  been  illustrated  ade- 
quately by  facts  taken  from  experience  ;  and  the  whole 
trend  of  the  work  is  toward  the  cultivation  of  right 
methods  of  instruction.  There  appears  to  have  been 
ever  present  in  the  author's  mind  a  desire  to  furnish 
aid  to  teachers  in  all  matters  relating  to  their  pro- 
fessional work.  In  short,  it  would  be  difficult  to 
overstate  the  practical  value  of  the  book,  Bince  it 
deals  with  the  problems  of  school  life  in  a  manner 
calculated  to  develop  interest  and  arouse  enthusiasm. 
Although  in  no  sense  a  compendium  of  the  subject, 
it  possesses  the  merit  of  stimulating  thoughtful  and 
correct  views  in  regard  to  education  ;  and  no  better 
basis  could  be  furnished  for  the  discussion  of  the 
theory  and  practice  of  teaching  than  that  which  is 
herein  set  forth. 

The  value  of  a  thorough  pedagogical  training  for 

vii 


yiii  PREFACE 

those  preparing  to  become  teachers  has  received 
general  recognition  during  recent  years.  The  im- 
proved equipment  possessed  by  those  now  entering 
upon  their  labors  has  excited  the  attention  of  older 
teachers.  The  result  has  been  a  desire  on  the  part  of 
those  who  have  been  long  in  service  to  do  something 
to  compensate  for  former  deficiencies  in  theoretical 
training  and  so  enable  them  to  compete  successfully 
with  younger  members  of  the  profession.  In  re- 
sponse to  the  higher  demands  made  upon  teachers, 
within  a  few  years  departments  of  pedagogy  have 
been  established  in  our  universities  and  colleges  ;  and 
Summer  Schools  for  the  training  of  teachers  have 
grown  in  popularity,  since  they  afford  opportunity 
for  receiving  such  aid  and  suggestion  in  regard  to 
practical  teaching  as  are  calculated  to  improve  the 
character  of  class  instruction. 

Psychology  has  always  been  recognized  as  a  most 
valuable  disciplinary  study  ;  but  it  has  remained  for 
the  students  of  pedagogy  to  show  the  importance  of 
its  bearing  upon  educational  problems. 

To  be  really  serviceable  to  teachers  in  elementary 
schools,  a  work  upon  practical  psychology  requires 
for  its  author  one  who  possesses  a  thorough  famil- 
iarity with  the  difficulties  involved  in  the  instruction 
of  young  children.  From  no  other  source  can  the 
teacher  expect  such  aid  as  is  required.  The  charm 
of  the  present  treatise  lies  in  the  naturalness  of  the 
presentation,  and  the  perfect  accord  between  the  sub- 
ject-matter and  the  method.  The  student  is  pro- 
vided with  the  proper  bases  of  instruction  and  the 
best  methods  of  teaching — each  and  all  in  strict 
harmony  with  the  laws  of  mental  growth. 


PREFACE 


IX 


Every  earnest  teacher  must  have  been  assailed  by 
doubts  as  to  the  best  methods  to  be  adopted  in  special 
cases.  While  no  work  on  the  theory  of  teaching  will 
Bufiice  to  meet  every  requirement,  there  is  still  a  defi- 
nite gain  to  be  derived  from  a  consideration  of  the 
course  followed  by  people  similarly  situated.  It  is 
far  better  that  one  should  thus  take  advantage  of  the 
experience  of  others,  than  that  he  should  rely  wholly 
upon  his  own  efforts.  An  undue  amount  of  harm 
may  be  the  portion  of  those  entrusted  to  our  care,  in 
case  we  reject  the  aid  of  others.  The  teacher  who 
has  had  no  advantages  in  the  way  of  assistance  and 
advice,  when  such  services  would  have  been  most 
welcome,  may  well  feel  a  sense  of  gratification  when 
he  finds  that  the  methods  he  has  followed  for  years 
are  defended  as  being  thoroughly  in  accord  with  the 
accepted  psychological  theories  of  the  day. 

The  scope  of  the  treatment  is  such  as  to  commend  it- 
self to  the  student.  While  the  author  bestows  due  care 
upon  the  explanation  of  terms  employed,  so  that  no 
doubt  may  exist  as  to  the  meaning  which  he  desires 
to  attach  to  each,  his  chief  motive  is  not  to  teach 
psychology.  Mental  processes  are  viewed  in  the  light 
of  the  aid  they  afford  to  teaching,  and  due  con- 
sideration is  given  to  the  kind  and  amount  of  effort 
required  by  the  pupil  while  acquiring  knowledge. 
The  chapters  upon  Association  and  Experience  con- 
tain a  large  amount  of  "food  for  reflection''  and 
deserve  the  most  careful  study.  The  ideal  attitude 
of  pupil  and  teacher  toward  each  other  is  developed 
incidentally  and  upon  the  highest  moral  grounds. 
We  cannot  fail  to  appreciate  most  highly  the  qualities 
of   one   who  advises  that  over    the   lintel   of   every 


X  PREFACE 

school  should  be  engraved  the  precept :  "  Establish 
a  background  of  sympathy. "  The  perfect  assimilation 
of  such  a  sentiment  by  the  great  army  of  teachers, 
would  result  in  the  introduction  of  a  highly  civiliz- 
ing influence  into  the  schoolroom. 

Throughout  the  book  we  find  allusions  to  the  various 
educational  movements  of  the  day.  From  certain 
statements  it  may  be  fairly  assumed  that  the  author 
is  an  advocate  of  Manual  Training  in  Elementary 
Schools ;  that  he  would  give  unqualified  support  to 
Nature  Study  in  its  various  forms;  and  that  he 
would  regard  well-regulated  exercises  in  Physical 
Culture  as  a  necessary  part  of  a  school  curriculum. 
To  an  American  student  of  pedagogy,  it  is  interest- 
ing to  note  the  opinions  of  educational  writers  on 
the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic.  A  thorough  com- 
parison of  different  systems  of  instruction  cannot  be 
undertaken  by  fair-minded  men  without  being  pro- 
ductive of  benefit. 

When  considering  the  special  purpose  of  a  work 
like  the  one  before  us,  it  does  not  appear  appropriate 
to  comment  upon  the  philosophical  views  of  the 
author.  That  he  has  felt  the  influence  of  the  asso- 
ciationalism  of  his  nation  may  be  regarded  as  a  fort- 
unate circumstance,  since  the  educational  world  owes 
a  great  debt  of  gratitude  to  the  school  whose  chief 
representative  has  given  such  earnest  attention  to  the 
physical,  mental,  and  moral  education  of  children. 

In  order  that  the  greatest  amount  of  benefit  may  be 
derived  from  a  study  of  "  Psychology  for  Teachers," 
the  student  would  do  well  to  make  constant  reference 
to  some  good  work  on  the  elements  of  psychology. 

About  two  years  ago,  it  was  my  good  fortune  to 


PREFACE  x[ 

find  a  copy  of  M  Psychology  for  Teachers  n  upon  the 
shelves  of  one  of  the  leading  booksellers  of  this  city. 
After  a  careful  examination,  it  proved  to  be  the  book 
needed  to  meet  the  requirements  of  ;i  class  conducted 
under  the  auspices  of  "  The  New  York  Society  of 
Pedagogy,"  and  was  therefore  selected  for  thai  pur- 
pose. The  discussion  of  the  matter  contained  in  the 
volume  proved  satisfactory  to  more  than  two  hundred 
teachers.  In  view  of  my  high  appreciation  of  the 
book  resulting  from  this  practical  test  of  its  excel- 
lences, I  have  accepted  with  pleasure  the  request  of 
the  American  publishers  to  prepare  the  Preface  for 
a  new  edition. 

Henry  W.  Jami:  on. 

New  York  City, 
June,  IS 98. 


PSYCHOLOGY  FOR   TEACHERS 


CHAPTER  I. 

STATES  OF  CONSCIOUSNESS. 

I  would  ask  you,  reader,  to  try  and  recall  what  has 
passed  through  your  mind  during  the  last  five  or  six 
minutes.  You  will  probably  have  some  difficulty  in 
doing  so.  You  have  not,  you  will  say,  been  think- 
ing of  anything  in  particular.  But,  unless  you  have 
been  asleep  or  in  a  trance,  something  was  passing 
through  your  mind  ;  little  perhaps  that  was  definite, 
but  much  that  was  indefinite. 

Now  vary  the  observation.  Look  round  the  room 
in  which  you  are  sitting.  Let  your  eyes  range  from 
object  to  object  for  a  minute  or  two,  and  then  con- 
sider what  has  been  passing  through  your  mind. 
You  have  seen,  perhaps,  in  succession  the  clock,  the 
fireplace,  the  arm-chair,  the  table,  a  vase  of  flowers, 
this  picture,  that  print  or  photograph,  and  so  on. 
Some  of  these  may  have  reminded  you  of  past  experi- 
ences— the  print  of  the  picture  from  which  it  has 
been  engraved  and  where  you  first  saw  it ;  the  flowers 

of  the  wood  in  which  you  picked  them  and  of  the 

1 


2     -  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

companion  who  was  with  you.  The  clock  may  have 
brought  to  mind  an  appointment  you  have  to  keep  ; 
the  fireplace,  that  a  little  judicious  use  of  the  poker 
may  be  advisable.  Again  vary  the  observation.  Run 
over  in  memory  the  events  of  your  last  holidays, 
where  you  went,  what  you  did,  whom  you  met ;  and 
then  once  more  consider  what  has  been  passing 
through  your  mind. 

All  the  time  you  are  making  these  elementary  ob- 
servations you  are  conscious.  That  which  is  in  your 
mind  at  any  moment  is  a  state  of  consciousness ; 
during  the  few  minutes  occupied  by  your  observa- 
tions there  was  a  series  or  sequence  of  states  of  con- 
sciousness ;  and  such  states  of  consciousness  are  pass- 
ing through  yotir  mind  all  day  long.  Psychology  is 
the  study  of  the  nature,  mode  of  origin,  and  manner 
of  sequence  of  these  states  of  consciousness.  You 
alone  of  all  the  world  can  say  what  was  the  nature 
and  what  the  sequence  of  your  states  of  conscious- 
ness ;  and  they  are  the  only  states  of  consciousness 
with  which  you  can  become  directly  acquainted. 
Hence,  if  you  would  learn  anything  of  psychology, 
you  must  carefully  examine  your  own  mind  and  the 
nature  of  your  own  experience.  Such  examination 
is  called  introspection.  But  by  means  of  language 
you  can  compare  notes  with  your  neighbors ;  and 
by  the  same  means  I  can  communicate  to  you, 
through  the  printed  page,  the  results  of  my  own 
study.  Moreover,  by  other  signs  we  can  learn  some- 
thing of  what  is  passing  through  the  minds  of  our 
companions.  But  we  can  only  interpret  the  language 
and  the  actions  of  others  in  terms  of  our  own  states 
of  consciousness.     If  I  say  that  I  have  seen  an  ox, 


STATES  OF  CONSCIOUSNESS  3 

you  understand  me  because  you  have  seen  many  oxen. 
If  I  say  that  I  have  been  examining  the  heart  of  a 
crayfish,  you  may  not  understand  me,  or  very  imper- 
fectly ;  you  have  probably  never  seen  one,  and  there- 
fore cannot  interpret  my  words  in  terms  of  your  own 
experience.  We  must  always  remember  how  limited 
is  the  experience  of  children,  how  difficult  it  must  be 
for  them  to  interpret  much  that  we  say  to  them,  and 
how  apt  they  are  through  imagination  to  form  false 
ideas  very  difficult  to  correct. 

Now,  states  of  consciousness  are  exceedingly  com- 
plex— that  is  to  say,  a  number  of  things  may  be  in 
one's  mind  at  once  in  any  moment  of  consciousness. 
It  is  therefore  necessary  to  analyze  our  states  of  con- 
sciousnesss  so  as  to  ascertain  the  elements  of  which 
they  are  made  up.  Let  us  suppose  that  we  are  look- 
ing at  the  picture  on  the  wall.  There  it  is  in  what 
we  may  call  the  focus  of  vision.  But  it  suggests  cer- 
tain thoughts  which  are  also  present  to  consciousness. 
And  thus  we  see  dimly  the  wall  on  which  it  hangs, 
and  much  besides  in  what  we  may  call  the  margin  of 
vision.  Realize  for  yourself  by  actual  observation 
how  much  you  do  see  indistinctly  in  this  way.  Fur- 
thermore, though  we  may  pay  little  attention  to  them, 
there  are  other  things  present  in  what  we  may  term 
the  margin  of  consciousness,  sounds  such  as  the  tick- 
ing of  the  clock  and  the  flicker  of  the  fire-flame,  scents 
such  as  that  of  the  flowers  in  the  vase,  pressures  from 
the  position  of  the  body,  and  that  general  feeling 
which  we  call  either  freshness  or  fatigue.  We  are 
apt  to  consider  only  that  on  which  our  attention  is 
specially  fixed — that  which  is  in  the  focus  of  conscious- 
ness, and  to  neglect  the  other  elements  which  lie  in 


4  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

the  margin  of  consciousness.  And  I  would  again 
urge  you  to  realize  for  yourself,  by  actual  observation, 
without  which  we  can  do  nothing  of  value  in  psychol- 
ogy, how  much  there  is  in  the  margin  of  conscious- 
ness of  which  you  are  not  fully  conscious,  but  merely 
subconscious. 

The  first  result  of  our  analysis  of  a  state  of  con- 
sciousness is  therefore  the  distinction  between  what 
is  focal  and  what  is  merely  marginal.  It  is  the  focal 
element  to  which  we  attend  ;  indeed,  we  may  say  that 
attention  is  the  clear,  accurate,  and  decisive  focussing 
of  the  central  element  in  consciousness  ;  or,  otherwise 
stated,  that  attention  differentiates  the  focus  from 
the  margin.  In  children  this  differentiation  is  prob- 
ably less  perfect,  less  rapid,  and  less  under  control 
than  in  older  people.  We  must  be  ready  to  make 
allowances  for  them  in  this  respect.  The  power  of 
bringing  out  the  focus  to  the  neglect  of  the  margin 
is  a  valuable  gift.  It  varies  a  good  deal  in  different 
individuals.  Some  people  can  read  a  book  and  follow 
a  difficult  train  of  reasoning  amid  a  buzz  of  conversa- 
tion, or  in  spite  of  the  distraction  of  a  street  band. 
With  others  the  influence  of  the  margin  is  more  dis- 
turbing, and  the  attention  is  easily  distracted.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  observant  person  is  one  in  whom 
occurrences  in  the  margin  of  consciousness  can 
rapidly  and  readily  be  made  focal.  For  example,  a 
naturalist,  when  he  is  out  for  a  walk  with  you,  catches 
a  hundred  sights  and  sounds  which  for  you  remain 
unnoticed.  A  mouse  in  the  grass,  an  insect  on  yon- 
der flower,  the  note  of  a  rare  bird,  have  caught  his 
observant  eye  and  ear,  while  yours  have  been  blind 
and  deaf  to  these  sights  and  sounds.     This,  too,  is 


STATES  OF  CONSCIOUSNESS  5 

a  valuable  gift.  Fortunate  is  he  who  can  both  focus 
rapidly  and  clearly,  and  yet  retains  a  sensitive  margin 
in  the  field  of  consciousness.  We  should  there- 
fore encourage  the  cultivation  of  both  these  gifts 
in  those  in  whose  mental  development  we  are  inter- 
ested. 

Let  us  now  consider  the  focal  elements  in  con- 
sciousness, and  see  what  they  are,  and  how  they  are 
brought  to  the  focus. 

As  I  look  out  of  window,  my  eye  falls  on  a  distant 
church-spire,  which  stands  out  clear-cut  against  a 
background  of  blue  sky.  So  long  as  I  fix  my  eyes 
upon  it,  that  spire  is  in  the  focus  of  consciousness. 
It  forms  a  sensory  impression.  As  we  look  about 
from  object  to  object,  we  have  a  great  number  of 
visual  impressions  of  this  kind  which  are  brought  to 
the  focus  by  stimuli  which  affect  the  retinas  of  our 
eyes.  While  I  am  looking  at  the  church-spire,  how- 
ever, I  hear  the  chirping  of  sparrows.  At  first  this 
is  only  marginal  in  consciousness,  but  presently  I 
cease  to  attend  to  the  church-spire  and  listen  atten- 
tively. The  notes  of  the  sparrows  are  then  focal  to 
my  consciousness  as  auditory  impressions.  In  like 
manner  I  may  have  olfactory  impressions,  or  impres- 
sions of  smell,  if  I  attend  to  the  scent  of  the  flowers 
in  my  room  ;  gustatory  impressions,  or  impressions 
of  taste,  if  I  sip  a  sweet  or  bitter  liquid  ;  impres- 
sions of  touch,  if  a  fly  settles  on  my  hand  or  fore- 
head ;  impressions  of  warmth  or  of  cold,  if  I  dip 
my  hands  in  hot  or  cold  water.  Forgive  the  itera- 
tion of  the  first  personal  pronoun  ;  I  am  anxious  to 
enforce  that  observation  must  he  personal  and  in- 
dividual. 


6  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

These  are  impressions  of  the  special  senses.  All  of 
them  are  due  to  stimuli  comiug  from  outside  our 
bodies  and  affecting  special  parts  of  our  delicate  bodily 
organization — the  eye,  ear,  nose,  palate,  or  skin.  Re- 
member that  we  are  using  the  term  impression  for 
that  which,  through  the  instrumentality  of  these 
stimuli,  is  brought  to  the  focus  of  consciousness.  A 
vast  number  of  stimuli  are  constantly  affecting  us, 
often  through  several  sense-organs,  or  it  may  be 
through  all  the  sense-organs  at  the  same  time.  Of 
these,  some  predominate  over  the  others  and  give  rise 
to  the  focal  impressions ;  the  rest,  which  are  subor- 
dinate, give  rise  to  the  marginal  elements  in  con- 
sciousness. But  any  of  these  subordinate  groups  of 
stimula  may  attract  the  attention,  and  thus  become 
predominant  and  give  rise  to  impressions.  As  I  look 
at  the  church  spire,  for  example,  a  particularly  vigor- 
ous and  chirpy  sparrow  may  draw  my  attention  so  as 
to  make  his  note  focal.  Or  a  whiff  of  scent  from  the 
flowers  may  lead  me  to  snuff  the  air  and  try  to  deter- 
mine whether  it  is  the  lilac  or  the  mignonette  which 
chiefly  perfumes  my  room. 

Such  impressions  form  a  large  part  of  the  raw 
material  of  consciousness.  There  are,  however,  other 
impressions,  less  conspicuous  and  familiar,  but  of 
considerable  importance  in  our  daily  life.  Close 
your  eyes  and  slowly  move  your  head  from  side  to 
side,  turning  it  on  the  axis  of  your  neck,  and  care- 
fully attend  to  what  you  feel.  You  feel  perhaps  the 
rubbing  of  the  skin  of  your  neck  against  your  collar  ; 
you  feel,  too,  movements  in  your  neck  ;  but  you  feel 
also  a  curious  sensation  in  your  head  which,  if  you 
continue  the  movements,  appears  to  be  akin  to  dizzi- 


STATES  OF  CONSCIOUSNESS  7 

ness.  There  is,  associated  with  the  organ  of  hearing, 
but  independent  of  that  sense,  a  delicate  piece  of 
apparatus  which  makes  us  acquainted  with  changes 
in  direction  of  the  movements  of  our  head  or  our 
body  as  a  whole.  This  it  is  which  probably  gives  us 
the  sensation  above  alluded  to.  Most  of  us  are  un- 
aware of  its  existence,  though  it  probably  is  of  use 
to  us  in  our  active  life.  The  effects  of  the  stimuli 
from  this  organ  are  for  the  most  part  marginal  or 
subconscious,  and  we  seldom  attend  to  them  so  as  to 
bring  them  to  the  focus  of  consciousness.  For  many 
animals  they  are  probably  of  more  importance  than 
they  are  for  us.  We  may  call  these  impressions  of 
direction  ;  but  we  must  remember  that  we  seldom 
focus  them  as  impressions.  They  generally  take 
their  place  unnoticed  in  the  margin  of  conscious- 
ness. 

Now  make  some  further  experiments  and  observa- 
tions, so  that  you  may  assure  yourself  of  the  reality 
of  motor  impressions — that  is  to  say,  impressions  of 
the  movements  of  your  limbs.  Look  at  the  clock- 
face  or  any  other  particular  object ;  shut  your  eyes  ; 
and,  not  too  hurriedly,  point  your  finger  at  the  ob- 
ject. Do  this  twice  or  thrice,  still  with  your  eyes 
shut,  and  note  your  states  of  consciousness.  You 
will,  I  think,  notice  two  things.  First,  you  picture 
to  yourself,  though  you  do  not  see,  the  movements 
of  your  hand  and  arm  :  this  we  may  neglect  for  the 
present.  Secondly,  you  feel  pretty  clearly  the  move- 
ments of  and  in  the  limb  as  you  bring  it  into  posi- 
tion. Stimuli  from  the  joints,  skin,  muscles,  and  so 
forth,  give  rise,  when  you  pay  special  attention  to 
them,  to  motor  impressions.     It  is  possible  that  you 


8  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

have  never  had  occasion  to  pay  attention  to  these 
before.  They  have  remained  for  the  most  part  as 
marginal  elements  in  your  consciousness.  I  am 
desirous  that  you  should  fully  realize  that  such  motor 
feelings  are  elements  in  consciousness.  Draw  a 
circle  in  the  air  or  on  the  blackboard  with  your  eyes 
shut  :  you  will  feel  with  surprising  distinctness  all 
the  movements  of  your  arm.  You  will  also  draw 
nearly  as  good  a  circle  as  you  could  with  your  eyes 
open.  Walk  about  the  room  :  every  change  of  posi- 
tion of  your  legs  is  felt.  Let  your  eyes  wander  from 
object  to  object  and  pay  attention  to  their  move- 
ments in  the  sockets  :  a  little  practice  will  enable 
you  to  feel  them  quite  clearly.  Now  hold  up  a  pen- 
cil or  penholder  about  eight  inches  from  your  face 
and  in  the  line  of  vision  of  the  picture  on  the  far 
wall.  Alternately  fix  your  eyes  on  the  end  of  the 
pencil  and  on  the  picture,  and  attend  to  the  feelings 
in  and  round  your  eyes.  Do  you  not  feel  quite 
plainly  your  eyes  going,  so  to  speak,  from  the  one 
to  the  other  ?  The  eyes  have  to  be  accommo- 
dated first  for  near  vision,  then  for  far  ;  and  when 
you  attend  to  the  matter,  you  focus  in  consciousness 
these  motor  impressions  of  accommodation.  Gener- 
ally, however,  these  elements  in  consciousness  are 
merely  marginal  and  subconscious. 

There  is  one  more  group  of  impressions  for  us  to 
take  note  of.  They  are  due  to  stimuli  from  the 
internal  organs  and  from  parts  at  some  little  dis- 
tance beneath  the  skin.  Lay  your  finger  lightly  on 
your  neck  :  you  have  an  impression  of  touch  on  the 
skin  of  the  neck.  Now  press  with  increasing  vigor  : 
you  are  conscious  of  an  impression  from  the  deeper 


STATES  OF  CONSCIOUSNESS  9 

parts  of  the  neck,  probably  accompanied  by  incip- 
ient pain.  This  impression  is  quite  different  from 
that  of  touch,  and,  though  it  may  originate  in  the 
muscles,  is  quite  different  also  from  a  motor  impres- 
sion. Hunger,  thirst,  fatigue  are  probably  of  this 
kind.  We  need  not  linger  over  these  internal  im- 
pressions— generally  due  to  pressures,  strains,  or 
some  unwonted  condition  of  the  parts  concerned ; 
but  we  may  notice  that  they  are  generally  suffused 
with  pleasure,  or,  more  frequently,  with  pain  or 
discomfort. 

Let  us  now  sum  up  what  we  have  learnt  concern- 
ing impressions.  They  originate  from  stimuli  affect- 
ing parts  of  our  bodies ;  and  they  occupy  the  focus 
of  consciousness.     They  may  be  either — 

1.  Impressions  of  the  special  senses— sight,  hear- 

ing, taste,  smell,  touch,  heat,  cold,  or  direc- 
tion of  movements  of  the  head  ; 

2.  Motor  impressions  ;  or — 

3.  Internal  impressions,  such  as  pressures,  strains, 

hunger,  thirst,  fatigue. 

When  the  stimuli  which  may  give  rise  to  impres- 
sions are  subordinate  to  other  more  powerful  stimuli, 
they  give  rise  to  marginal  elements  of  which  we  are 
not  clearly  and  distinctly  conscious,  but  are  only  in- 
distinctly subconscious.  The  impressions  and  the 
marginal  elements,  alike  due  to  stimuli,  are,  how- 
ever, similar  in  their  nature,  and  differ  only  in  the 
fact  that  whereas  the  impressions  are  clear  and  focal, 
the  marginal  elements  are  indistinct  and  subcon- 
scious. 

In  our  adult  years  a  great  deal  of  the  business  of 
life  is  transacted  in  the  marginal  or  subconscious 


10       PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

region.  In  matters  of  skill,  for  example,  though  the 
acquisition  and  perfecting  of  control  over  our  bodily 
activities  is  focal  and  demands  attention,  yet  when 
the  skill  has  been  acquired  and  is  well  established, 
the  subsequent  performance  of  the  activities  is  to 
a  large  extent  relegated  to  the  margin.  We  learn  to 
walk,  to  run,  to  knit,  to  play  the  piano,  to  ride  a 
bicycle  ;  and  the  learning  requires  constant  focal  at- 
tention. But  when  the  skilful  performance  of  these 
actions  has  by  practice  become  perfect,  we  may  do 
any  of  these  things,  and  do  them  well,  while  the  focus 
of  consciousness  is  occupied  with  other  impressions. 
The  peasant  woman  knits  and  walks  ;  but  in  the  focus 
of  her  consciousness  is  yonder  fair-haired  girl  whom 
the  stalwart  young  fellow  is,  quite  unnecessarily,  help- 
ing over  the  stile.  The  pianist's  fingers  are  running 
softly  over  the  keys  ;  but  his  eyes  and  thought  are 
fixed  on  his  mother's  portrait.  The  cyclist  bowls 
along  the  road  ;  but  it  is  the  delicately-shaded  green- 
ery of  the  spring  that  holds  his  attention.  And  in 
these  cases  the  actions  are  not  performed  uncon- 
sciously, but  subconsciously.  The  cyclist  guides  his 
machine,  avoids  stones  in  the  road,  and  adjusts  his 
output  of  energy  to  the  gradient,  in  response  to 
stimuli  coming  from  without.  But  the  skill  he  has 
been  at  the  pains  of  acquiring  has  become  so  far  a 
habit  that  it  no  longer  requires  his  focal  attention. 
Marginal  awareness  suffices  for  the  guidance  and  con- 
trol of  his  machine.  This  again  is  a  matter  in  which 
I  would  beg  you,  reader,  to  exercise  self-observation. 
Only  by  doing  so  will  you  fully  realize  how  much  goes 
on  in  the  margin  of  your  consciousness.  And  not 
only  is  this  true  of  our  active  life  ;  it  is  true  also  of 


STATES  OF  CONSCIOUSNESS  11 

our  thought.  Who  does  not  know,  from  personal 
experience,  that,  perhaps  even  during  a  sermon,  there 
are  undercurrents  of  thought  ?  It  is  indeed  only 
during  the  most  concentrated  attention,  if  even  then, 
that  the  undercurrents  are  wholly  absent.  In  ordi- 
nary attention  all  that  we  do  is  to  keep  these  under- 
currents duly  subordinate. 

Sometimes  we  have  to  divide  our  attention,  and 
hold  two  series  of  impressions,  or  two  parts  of  the 
same  series  in  the  focus.  Thus,  we  may  read  a  book 
and  listen  to  a  piece  of  music  or  a  conversation. 
Such  divided  at  f  cut  ion  is  generally  rather  a  strain, 
and  we  get  the  best  neither  out  of  the  book  nor  the 
music.  A  familiar  instance  of  attending  to  two  parts 
of  a  series  at  the  same  time  is  afforded  when  we  are 
taking  notes  of  a  lecture.  We  are  at  the  same  time 
putting  down  the  notes  of  what  the  lecturer  has  just 
said  and  listening  to  what  he  is  saying.  I  lately 
watched  a  student  thus  taking  notes.  It  was  curious 
to  observe  how  far  his  pencil  was  behind  the  spoken 
words,  but  he  got  quite  correctly  the  gist  of  all  the 
lecturer  said. 

To  resume.  Impressions  and  the  marginal  elements 
due  to  stimuli  form  the  raw  material  of  conscious- 
ness. It  must  be  remembered  that  the  state  of 
consciousness  of  which  we  have  practical  experi- 
ence in  any  moment  of  our  waking  lives  comprises, 
besides  the  impression  in  the  focus,  all  that  is 
contained  in  the  margin  of  consciousness.  Focus 
and  margin  conspire  to  form  the  state  of  con- 
sciousness ;  and  it  is  only  by  analyzing  the  state  of 
consciousness  that  we  distinguish  the  focus  from  the 
margin. 


12  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

We  must  now  pass  on  to  consider  what  else,  other 
than  an  impression,  may  occupy  the  focus  of  con- 
sciousness. 

When  we  are  sitting  quietly  and  are  recalling  the 
sights  and  sounds  and  scents  of  a  pleasant  walk  in 
the  country,  our  minds  are  dealing,  not  with  present 
impressions,  but  with  the  revivals  in  memory  of  past 
impressions.  Such  revivals  are  termed  ideas,  or,  to 
particularize  them  more  accurately,  sense-ideas.  The 
images  that  float  before  the  mind's  eye,  the  recollected 
notes  of  the  nightingale,  or  the  perfume  of  May 
blossoms,  are  examples  of  sense-ideas.  They  are  not 
due  to  stimuli  coming  from  without,  but  arise  through 
suggestion  in  ways  which  will  be  considered  in  the 
next  chapter.  But  though  they  do  not  directly  owe 
their  origin  to  external  stimuli,  they  do  so  indirectly  ; 
for,  in  the  absence  of  visual  impressions  of  trees  and 
fields  and  hedgerows,  we  could  have  no  images  of  any 
of  these  things  as  sense-ideas.  And  so  with  other 
forms  of  sense-experience.  It  is  clear  that  if  we 
have  never  heard  the  notes  of  a  nightingale,  we  can- 
not recall  these  notes  as  sense-ideas.  Impressions, 
then,  are  matters  of  direct  experience ;  the  sense- 
ideas  which  represent  them  are  like  the  echoes  of 
this  experience.  Hence  we  say  that  impressions  are 
presentative,  and  the  corresponding  sense-ideas  re- 
presentative. Many  of  our  words  are  presentative 
signs  or  symbols  which  suggest  re-presentative  ideas. 
We  have,  for  example,  an  impression  of  an  animal 
for  which,  we  are  told,  the  name-sign  is  "  sheep." 
Afterwards  the  presentative  word  "sheep"  suggests 
a  re-presentative  idea  of  the  animal.  The  re-presen- 
tative idea  is,  however,  entirely  dependent  upon  our 


STATES  OF  CONSCIOUSNESS  13 

actual  preservative  experience  of  sheep.  There  can 
be  no  sense-ideas  without  previous  sense-impressions. 
We  must  never  forget  this  when  we  are  teaching 
young  children.  The  range  of  their  sense-ideas  is 
limited  to  the  range  of  their  direct  experience. 
Words  for  objects  of  which  they  have  no  direct  ex- 
perience are  little  more  than  mere  sounds. 

The  classification  of  sense-ideas  precisely  corre- 
sponds to  the  classification  of  the  impressions  of 
which  they  are  the  re-presentative  echoes.  Thus  we 
may  have  ideas  of  the  special  senses,  motor  ideas, 
and  ideas  which  re-present  the  internal  impressions. 
But  the  several  kinds  of  sense-ideas  vary  a  good  deal 
in  clearness  and  definiteness  ;  and  different  individ- 
uals differ  not  a  little  in  their  power  of  clearly  re-pre- 
senting their  sensory  experience.  Some  of  us  visual- 
ize clearly.  I  can  visualize  distinctly  anything  of 
which  I  have  recently  had  a  definite,  clear-cut,  visual 
impression.  I  have  also  tolerably  clear  auditory 
ideas.  I  can  re-presentatively  hear  the  notes  of  a 
violin,  or  French  horn,  or  piccolo.  My  ideas  of  touch- 
impressions  are  rather  vague  ;  and  my  ideas  of  taste 
and  smell  are  not  at  all  definite.  If  I  try  and  recall 
the  taste  of  an  orange,  a  pineapple,  an  acidulated 
drop,  they  are  by  no  means  clearly  distinguishable. 
On  the  other  hand,  my  ideas  re-presentative  of  the 
impressions  of  direction  of  rotation  are  much  more 
definite,  perhaps  because  I  have  experimented  with 
myself  a  good  deal  in  this  matter.  I  would  ask  the 
reader  to  exercise  some  self-observation,  and  ascer- 
tain what  his  own  powers  are — how  far,  for  example, 
he  is  able  to  form  an  idea  of  the  taste  of  shrimps  at 
all  comparable  to  his  visual  idea  of  this  succulent 


14       PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

animal.  So  too  with  regard  to  motor  ideas.  My  own 
motor  ideas  are  remarkably  distinct.  I  can  re-present 
to  myself  quite  clearly  any  of  the  familiar  movements 
of  my  limbs  ;  if ,  for  example,  I  think  of  the  movements 
necessary  to  carry  my  hand  to  the  back  of  my  neck,  I 
feel  them  re-presentatively  far  more  clearly  than  I  can 
re-present  to  myself  the  smell  of  a  rose.  The  ideas 
which  correspond  to  internal  impressions  are  very 
vague,  and  to  a  large  extent  are  emptied  of  the  pleas- 
urable or  painful  accompaniment  which  character- 
izes the  impressions  themselves. 

We  must  remember  that  the  idea,  as  such,  occupies 
the  focus  of  consciousness.  In  this  respect  it  is  pre- 
cisely analogous  to  the  impression.  And  just  as  there 
may  be  a  large  body  of  presentative  elements  in  the 
margin  of  consciousness,  so  too  may  there  be  a  large 
body  of  re-presentative  elements  in  the  margin  of 
consciousness.  As  we  recall  the  events  of  our  pleas- 
ant country  walk,  there  are  (1)  the  sense-ideas  in  the 
focus  of  consciousness  ;  (2)  a  good  deal  of  re-pre- 
sentative margin,  forming  the  background  of  the 
ideas  ;  and  (3)  a  certain  amount  of  presentative  mar- 
gin, due  to  the  stimuli  which  are  affecting  our  special 
senses,  the  sounds,  scents,  touches,  and  so  forth,  to- 
gether with  motor  elements  due  to  the  positions  of 
our  limbs  and  pressures  from  our  attitude.  Neglect- 
ing these  presentative  elements  in  the  margin,  it 
would  seem  that  the  focal  ideas  are  not  so  clearly 
marked  off  from  the  re-presentative  elements  in  the 
margin  of  consciousness  as  is  the  case  with  impressions. 
Indeed,  in  certain  states  of  reverie,  our  consciousness 
seems  all  margin,  without  anything  definite  in  the 
focus.     Our   day-dream   is    peopled   with    shadowy 


STATES  OF  CONSCIOUSNESS  15 

phantoms  which  dimly  flit  across  the  scene  with  de- 
lightful inexactness  of  outline. 

There  is  one  more  point  to  notice  about  sense-ideas, 
and  it  helps  to  show  why  they  are  often  less  clear-cut 
than  the  impressions  of  which  they  are  re-presenta- 
tive.  The  impressions  are  always  of  particular  ob- 
jects. If  we  let  our  eyes  range  over  a  flock  of  sheep, 
each  individual  sheep  may  come  to  the  focus  as  an 
impression.  But  if,  as  we  sit  at  home,  we  recall 
our  experiences  in  the  field,  what  we  visualize  is  not 
any  particular  sheep,  but  what  is  common  to  a  num- 
ber of  individuals.  We  can  indeed  visualize  either  a 
white  sheep  or  a  black  sheep  ;  but  neither  of  them 
has  that  perfectly  clear-cut  individuality  which  the 
impression  of  a  sheep  would  have.  Just  as  the  word 
"  sheep  "  is  a  common  noun,  or  a  name  common  to 
a  number  of  individuals,  so  is  my  idea  of  a  sheep  a 
common,  or,  to  employ  the  technical  term,  a  generic 
idea.  Hence  what  we  visualize  most  clearly  is  the 
particular  object  or  person.  I  can  visualize  quite 
distinctly  the  cottage  in  which  I  lived  at  the  Cape, 
with  its  convolvulus-covered  stoep  or  verandah,  the 
pear  tree  in  front  of  it,  and  the  cliffs  of  Table  Moun- 
tain which  rose  at  some  distance  behind  it.  All  of 
this  is  particular.  But  I  cannot  visualize  in  the 
same  way  "  cottage,"  because  I  have  seen  so  many 
cottages.  Thus,  tlie  impression  is  always  particu- 
lar j  but  the  sense-idea  may  be  either  particular  or 
generic. 

So  far  as  our  analysis  of  states  of  consciousness 
has  at  present  carried  us,  we  may  have,  in  the  focus, 
impressions  or  their  corresponding  ideas  ;  and,  in 
the  margin,  presentative  elements  due  to  subordinate 


16       PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

stimuli,  and  the  corresponding   re-presentative  ele- 
ments.    Let  ns  now  proceed  a  step  farther.     There 
lies  before  me  a  stick  of  sealing-wax,   which  gives 
rise  to  a  visual  impression  as  I  look  at  it.     And  close 
by  it  there  lies  a  penwiper.     As  I  look  from  one  to 
the  other,  I  am  struck  by  the  fact  that  the  color  of 
the  wax  is  the  same  as  the  color  of  the  penwiper. 
In  the  act  of  perceiving  the  similarity  of  the  color, 
this  particular  element  in  the  impressions  becomes 
predominant,  to  the  subordination  of  other  elements. 
On  my  desk  there  lies  also  a  book  bound  in  red  ;  but 
the  color  is  deep  and  full,   and  I  perceive  that  it 
differs  from  the  vermilion-red  of  the   sealing-wax, 
and  from  that  of  the  piece  of  blotting-paper  on  which 
my  manuscript  rests.     Now,  in  such  cases  we  perceive 
the   similarity   or   the    dissimilarity   of   the   colors. 
What  we  thus  perceive  is  called  a  relation.     We  per- 
ceive the  color-relations  of  certain  visual  impressions. 
These  relations  are  not  impressions  of  the  same  kind 
as  those  we  have  so  far  considered.     The  impressions 
of  sense  are  due,  as  we  have  seen,  to  stimuli ;  but 
we  know  nothing  of  any  stimuli  which  give  rise  to 
the  feeling  or  consciousness  of  relation.     And  yet 
this  feeling  is  one  that  is  quite  distinct.     We  know 
that  the  darker  red  is  due  to  stimuli  of  a  particular 
kind,  and  that  the  lighter  red  is  due  to  stimuli  of  a 
slightly  different  kind.     The  related  reds  are  thus 
both  parts  of  sense-impressions  ;  but  the  relation  it- 
self is  not,  so  far  as  we  know,  due  to  stimuli.     It 
seems  to  take  its  origin  in  the  transition  of  conscious- 
ness  from  the  darker  red  to  the  lighter  red.     But 
since  the  transition  is   between  impressions  due  to 
stimuli,  we  may  conveniently  widen  our  definition  of 


STATES  OF  CONSCIOUSNESS  17 

impressions  so  as  to  include  these  transitions — term- 
ing them  impressions  of  relation.  And  we  may  speak 
of  a  relation  as  presentative  when  it  is  perceived  to 
hold  good  between  two  presentative  impressions  ;  and 
as  re-presentative,  or  an  idea  of  relation,  when  we  think 
of  the  relation  between  two  sense-ideas,  or  between  a 
sense-impression  and  a  sense-idea.  We  may  have, 
for  example,  sense-ideas  of  the  deep  green  of  the 
Scotch  fir  and  of  the  tender  green  of  the  budding 
larch,  and  may  then  perceive  their  relationship,  and 
thus  have  an  idea  of  relation,  which  is  the  transition 
in  consciousness,  not  between  presentative  impres- 
sions, but  between  re-presentative  ideas. 

It  need  scarcely  be  said  that  it  is  not  only  of  colors, 
the  example  here  chosen  for  purposes  of  illustration, 
that  relations  hold  good.  We  perceive  the  relations 
of  scents,  of  sounds,  of  tastes,  of  touches,  of  pressures, 
of  changes  in  the  amount  and  direction  of  movement. 
We  perceive  relations  of  size,  of  weight,  of  intensity, 
of  temperature,  of  hardness.  It  is  not  too  much  to 
say  that  all  our  thought  and  all  our  intellectual 
knowledge  are  dependent  upon  the  perception  of 
relations;  and  that  for  us  the  transitions  in  con- 
sciousness from  impression  to  impression,  and  from 
sense-idea  to  sense-idea,  are  quite  as  important  as  the 
sense-impressions  and  sense-ideas  themselves. 

We  must  learn  to  distinguish  carefully  between 
sense-experience  or  sensation  and  perception.  The 
term  "sensation"  is  rather  a  puzzling  one  in  psy- 
chology. We  may  altogether  exclude  the  popular 
use  of  the  word,  when  we  say,  for  example,  that  a 
book  or  an  actor  has  created  a  sensation.  First, 
then,  the  word  "sensation"  is  used  in  psychology 


18  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

as  a  general  name  for  the  faculty  (by  which  we  mean 
any  special  mode  of  the  exercise  of  consciousness)  of 
experiencing  impressions  or  ideas  of  sense.  We  shall 
employ  the  term  "  sense-experience "  for  the  ex- 
perience gained  through  sensation.  We  need,  how- 
ever, a  verb  to  answer  to  sensation,  as  the  verb 
"  perceive  "  answers  to  perception.  I  shall  use  the 
verb  "  to  sense  "  for  this  purpose.  So  far,  the  term 
"  sensation"  does  not  present  any  great  difficulty. 
But  the  results  of  the  analysis  of  impressions  are 
spoken  of  as  "  sensations."  Thus  we  say  that  an 
impression  of  sight  is  due  to  a  number  of  visual 
sensations ;  and  we  speak  of  sensations  of  touch,  and 
of  motor  sensations.  Often  the  words  "  impression  " 
and  ' e  sensation  "  are  used  as  synonymous.  Thus  we 
speak  either  of  an  impression  of  sound  or  smell,  or 
of  a  sensation  of  sound  or  smell  ;  either  of  a  motor 
impression,  or  of  a  motor  sensation.  In  such  cases 
we  are  unable  to  analyze  the  impression  into  distin- 
guishable sensations ;  or,  in  other  words,  the  im- 
pression is  a  homogeneous  sensation,  whereas  in  the 
visual  impression  we  may  have  of  an  apple  there  are 
a  number  of  distinguishable  sensations  of  red,  green, 
and  so  forth.  It  will  be  noted  that  the  word  "  sensa- 
tion," as  a  general  term  for  the  sensing  of  impres- 
sions, cannot  be  used  in  the  plural,  or  with  the 
indefinite  article  ;  but  we  speak  of  "  a  sensation  "  or 
"sensations"  when  we  refer  to  those  elementary 
factors  of  impressions  of  sense  which  are  disclosed  by 
psychological  analysis. 

Sensation  and  sense-experience,  then,  deal  with  im- 
pressions and  ideas  of  sense  ;  while  perception  in- 
troduces us  to  tvliat  have   been  termed  impressions 


STATES  OF  CONSCIOUSNESS  19 

and  ideas  of  relation.      We  may  now  proceed  a  step 
farther. 

Looking  at  the  sealing-wax  and  the  penwiper,  I 
again  perceive  the  similarity  of  color,  and,  glancing 
up  at  my  shelves,  I  see,  here  and  there,  books  the 
bindings  of  which  present  just  the  same  vermilion 
color.  Now,  leaning  back  in  my  chair  with  closed 
eyes,  I  cause  visual  ideas  of  the  sealing-wax,  the  pen- 
wiper, and  the  books  to  pass  before  my  mind's  eye. 
In  each  of  these  visual  ideas  the  color-element  is 
predominant ;  and  then  I  think  of  the  vermilion  color 
which  is  common  to  all  of  them  ;  and  as  I  do  so  the 
different  margins  of  subordinate  elements  fade  away, 
leaving  the  idea  of  vermilion  in  possession  of  the  field. 
Such  an  idea,  re-presentative  of  an  element  common 
to  several  or  many  impressions,  is  termed  an  abstract 
idea.  It  results  from,  first,  generalizing  the  effects  of 
predominant  elements  in  several  sense-impressions  ; 
secondly,  perceiving  the  similarity  of  these  predomi- 
nant elements,  each  to  each  ;  and  lastly,  abstracting 
this  predominant  element  from  the  subordinate 
elements  with  which  it  is  associated.  When  the 
element  is  merely  predominant,  the  subordinate  ele- 
ments are  still  present  in  the  margin  of  conscious- 
ness ;  but  when  the  abstract  idea  is  reached,  the 
subordinate  elements,  so  to  speak,  neutralize  each 
other,  and  are  ignored  or  neglected.  Redness  is  thus 
an  abstract  sense-idea.  Our  language  is  full  of  words 
which  signify  elements  or  qualities  of  sense-im- 
pressions floated  off  by  abstraction  from  the  other 
elements  or  qualities  with  which  they  were  associ- 
ated in  the  sense-impression  as  it  was  actually  ex- 
perienced.    The  process  of  attaining,  through  gener- 


20       PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

alization,  to  an  idea  of  that  which  is  common  to  a 
number  of  particular  experiences,  is  termed  concep- 
tion. We  conceive  redness,  size,  weight,  hardness, 
and  so  forth.  We  can  conceive  also  virtue,  beauty, 
truth,  apart  from  the  particular  persons  by  whom,  or 
the  actions  in  which,  these  excellencies  are  exem- 
plified. 

We  can  also,  through  generalization,  reach  a  con- 
ception of  relation.  Suppose  that  we  perceive  that 
this  piece  of  string  is  twice  as  long  as  that  piece ; 
this  bullet  twice  as  heavy  as  that  bullet ;  this  note 
twice  as  loud  as  that ;  this  pressure  twice  that ;  this 
light  twice  as  brilliant  as  that.  The  same  relation, 
which  we  may  call  that  of  "  twiceness,"  or  of  two  to 
one,  holds  good  for  all  these  varied  experiences.  In 
the  act  of  perceiving  the  relation  in  each  case  we 
make  it  predominant.  And  when  we  think  over  the 
experiences  we  neglect  or  ignore  the  subordinate 
elements  therein,  and  rise  to  an  abstract  idea  of  rela- 
tion. The  abstract  idea  of  relation  has  two  points 
in  common  with  the  abstract  sense-idea  (such  as  that 
of  redness)  :  (1)  that  it  is  the  result  of  generalizing 
from  several  or  many  particular  experiences,  and 
(2)  that  it  is,  so  to  speak,  floated  off  from  actual  ex- 
perience, though  it  arises  therefrom. 

As  it  is  important  to  distinguish  between  sensation 
and  perception,  so  also  is  it  important  to  distinguish 
between  perception  and  conception.  Perception  deals 
ivith particular  instances  ;  and  we  perceive  a  particu- 
lar relation.  Conception  deals  with  the  results  of 
generalization  ;  we  conceive  the  quality  or  relation  as 
common  to  a  number  of  particular  cases. 

We  may  now  classify  as  follows  : — 


STATES  OF  CONSCIOUSNESS  21 

FOCAL  TO  CONSCIOUSNESS. 
Presentative.  Re-presentative. 

Sensation. 

Impressions  of  sense  Ideas  of  sense  or  sense-ideas. 

(analyzable  into  sensations) . 

Perception. 

Impressions  of  relation  Ideas  of  relation 

(i.e.  transitions  in  conscious-  (i.e.  transitions  in  conscious- 
ness between  sense-nipres-  ness  between  sense-ideas,  or 
isions).  between  a  sense-idea  and  a 

sense-impression) . 

Conception. 

(There  are  no  impressions        Predominant  and  Abstract 
under  the   head  of  concep-    sense-ideas. 
tion.     The  presentative  ma-        Predominant  and  Abstract 
terial  is  given  in  Sensation    ideas  af  relation. 
and  Perception).  (Both  as  a   rule  general- 

ized.) 

It  must  be  remembered  that  the  above  classifica- 
tion deals  with  what  is  focal  to  consciousness,  and 
that  states  of  consciousness  as  they  are  actually  ex- 
perienced comprise  a  great  deal  that  is  marginal. 
During  healthy  normal  waking  life  there  is  always 
much  that  is  presentative  in  the  margin  of  conscious- 
ness. It  is  this  that  in  the  midst  of  our  abstract 
thought,  or  our  flights  of  imagination,  keeps  us  in 
touch  with  our  immediate  surroundings  and  the 
practical  realities  of  our  life.  But  the  margin  may 
contain  in  addition  to  these  presentative  sense- 
elements,  and  in  addition  to  re-presentative  elements 
of  the  same  category,  further  elements  due  to  per- 


22       PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

ception  and  conception.  For  intellectual  men  and 
women,  who  deal  largely  with  knowledge  and  the  re- 
lations of  phenomena,  all  that  they  see  and  hear,  all 
their  experience,  is  set  in  a  relational  background. 
Their  impressions  and  their  ideas  of  sense  are  some- 
thing more  than  mere  impressions  or  sense-ideas. 
Set  as  they  are  in  a  relational  background,  the  ob- 
jects of  sense  are  suffused  with  meaning.  This  it  is 
that  makes  us  rational  beings. 

Much  therefore  depends,  not  only  upon  the  nature 
of  that  which  is  focal  to  consciousness,  but  upon  the 
relation  of  this  focal  object  to  the  margin,  or  the 
mental  background,  as  we  may  term  it.  Where  an 
object  of  sense  is  set  in  a  background  which  contains 
no  other  elements  than  those  introduced  through 
sense-experience,  it  may  be  termed  a  sencept.  When 
the  impression  or  idea  is  set  in  a  background  of  per- 
ceived relations,  we  term  it  a  percept;  and  where  it 
is  set  in  a  background  of  conceived  relationships,  we 
apply  to  it  the  term  concept.  These  terms  will  not, 
however,  have  much  significance  for  us  until  we 
have  learned  more  concerning  perception  and  con- 
ception. 

We  have,  in  this  chapter,  been  considering  only 
that  which  is  termed  the  cognitive  aspect  of  conscious- 
ness. Cognition  deals  with  our  knowledge  and  all 
that  leads  up  to  it.  Nothing,  or  scarcely  anything, 
has  been  said  concerning  those  aspects  of  our  con- 
scious life  which  are  comprised  by  psychologists  under 
the  emotions  and  the  with  These  we  must  leave  for 
future  consideration. 


CHAPTEK  II 

ASSOCIATION 

We  have  seen  that  in  any  moment  of  conscious- 
ness there  is,  in  addition  to  the  focal  impression  or 
idea,  much  that  hovers  indistinctly  in  the  margin  of 
the  mind's  eye.  A  state  of  consciousness,  as  we  have 
denned  it,  includes  both  the  impression  or  idea  in  the 
focus  and  all  that  there  is  in  the  marginal  region. 

Now,  when  we  are  experiencing  a  series  of  visual 
impressions — are  looking,  for  example,  at  a  row  of 
figures — each  member  of  the  series  occupies  the  focus 
of  consciousness  in  succession.  But  when  any  one 
impression  is  succeeded  by  another,  it  docs  not  at 
once  and  altogether  disappear  out  of  consciousness. 
It  ceases  indeed  to  be  focal,  but  it  is  carried  on  in  the 
margin.  As  you  read  slowly  what  is  printed  on  this 
page,  you  experience  a  series  of  visual  impressions 
which  suggest  certain  ideas.  But  as  each  visual  im- 
pression and  its  idea  ceases  to  be  focal,  it  does  not 
at  once  lapse  out  of  your  consciousness  :  it  passes 
into  the  subconscious  margin.  If  you  did  not  thus 
retain  in  mind  what  was  said  at  the  beginning  of  a 
sentence  or  a  paragraph,  how  could  you  possibly 
understand  what  was  said  at  its  close  ?     How  could 

you  detect   any  fault  in  construction  or  fallacy  in 

23 


24  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

reasoning  ?  A  simple  arithmetical  series  will  afford 
an  illustration  of  this  carrying  on  into  the  margin. 
Take  7,  add  5,  divide  by  2 ;  answer,  6.  A  quick 
child  can  do  this  "  in  his  head  "  without  dif- 
ficulty. But  it  would  be  impossible  to  perform 
this  simple  series  of  arithmetical  operations  if,  when 
the  sound  ( '  two  "  fell  on  his  ears,  the  idea  of  "  seven  " 
had  already  lapsed  altogether  from  consciousness.  I 
would  urge  the  reader  to  make  observations  on  his 
own  mental  sequences  so  as  to  realize  this  carrying 
on  of  focal  elements  into  the  margin  of  consciousness. 
It  plays  an  important  part  in  giving  continuity  to 
our  thought  and  experience. 

But  the  effective  carrying  on  of  elements  in  con- 
sciousness, and  the  power  of  utilizing  what  is  thus 
carried  on,  varies  much  according  to  the  degree  of 
mental  development.  There  is  a  story  of  a  yokel  who 
was  told  that  "  the  farmer  had  given  Jim  the  sack. 
He  asked  slowly,  "  Who's  given  Jim  the  sack  ? 
And  on  being  told  it  was  the  farmer,  scratched  his 
head  and  asked,  "  What's  farmer  given  Jim  ?  "  When 
this  question  was  answered,  the  yokel  asked,  "  Who's 
farmer  given  the  sack  to  ?  w  And  so  on,  round  and 
round.  His  consciousness  could  not  hold  all  three — 
farmer,  Jim,  and  the  sack —  in  one  synthesis.  Some 
children  seem  unable  to  perform  even  a  simple  series 
of  arithmetical  operations  ';  in  their  heads  "  ;  either 
the  carrying  on  into  the  margin  does  not  occur,  or 
they  are,  as  yet,  unable  to  utilize  the  material  so 
carried  on.  The  teacher  must  be  ever  ready  to  make 
allowances  for  such  immaturities  of  faculty. 

The  gradual  fading  of  impressions  and  ideas,  in- 
stead of  their  sudden  and  instantaneous  cessation  in 


ASSOCIATION  25 

consciousness,  is  sometimes  said  to  fall  under  the  head 
of  memory.  It  is  more  satisfactory,  however,  to  apply  / 
the  term  memory  to  those  mental  occurrences  which 
are  involved  in  the  recall,  or  re-presentation,  of  what 
has  for  a  longer  or  shorter  period  completely  faded 
out  of  consciousness.  Thus  we  may  remember  events 
which  have  not  in  any  way  been  present  to  conscious- 
ness for  weeks,  months,  or  even  years. 

The  phenomena  of  memory  involves  three  things  : 
first,  registration ;  secondly,  retention  ;  and  thirdly, 
recall  or  reproduction.  It  is  clear  that  registration 
and  retention  are  not  the  same.  If  we  register  a  fact 
in  our  diary  with  ink  which  fades  in  a  week,  there 
will  be  no  retention  of  the  fact  registered  beyond 
that  limited  period.  But  in  what  way  the  effects  of 
impressions  are  registered  and  retained  we  are  scarcely 
in  a  position  here  to  consider.  The  registration  is 
effected  somehow  in  our  brains,  and  the  effects  so 
produced  are  in  some  manner  retained  by  the  brain- 
structures.  When  we  speak  into  a  phonograph,  the 
effects  of  our  voice  are  registered  on  the  cylinder  of 
the  instrument,  and  are  there  retained  in  such  a  way 
that  the  sounds  can  be  reproduced  at  any  subsequent 
time.  The  sounds  themselves  are  not  in  any  way  re- 
tained ;  but  the  conditions  of  their  reproductions  are 
established.  This  is  only  a  rough  analogy ;  but  it 
helps  us  to  understand  the  kind  of  way  in  which, 
though  the  mental  impressions,  as  such,  cannot  be 
retained  by  the  brain,  the  conditions  of  their  repro- 
duction may  be  impressed  upon  the  brain-structure. 
It  is  probable  that  retentiveness  is  a  natural  gift  which 
is  not  in  any  marked  degree  susceptible  of  improve- 
ment.    We  must  just  make  the  best  we  can  of  the 


26       PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

natural  memory  of  which  we  stand  possessed.  But 
the  power  of  recall,  within  the  limits  of  our  natural 
retentiveness,  can  be  very  markedly  improved. 
If  we  use  the  term  remembrance  for  the  natural  com- 
ing to  mind  of  ideas  without  conscious  effort,  and  the 
term  recollection  for  the  process  of,  so  to  speak,  hunt- 
ing up  an  idea,  then  we  may  say  that  remembering 
is  a  natural  faculty  but  recollecting  is  an  acquired 
art.  And  in  this  terminology  we  may  speak  of  "  try- 
ing to  recollect,"  but  not  of  "  trying  to  remember." 
Upon  what  the  art  of  recollecting  is  based  we  will 
consider  presently ;  we  have  first  to  see  upon  what 
the  natural  faculty  of  remembering  depends. 

It  dej)ends  upon  what  are  termed  the  laws  of  asso- 
ciation of  impressions  and  ideas,  and  especially  upon 
that  which  is  called  the  law  of  contiguity.  This  law, 
in  so  far  as  it  applies  to  impressions  and  ideas,  we 
may  formulate  as  follows  :  If  any  two  focal  elements 
in  consciousness,  c  and  I,  occur  in  successive  moments 
of  consciousness  as  impressions,  the  subsequent  recur- 
rence of  c  as  an  impression  or  idea  will  tend,  under 
similar  marginal  conditions,  to  suggest  the  recurrence 
of  I  as  an  idea.  We  are  out  for  a  country  walk,  for 
example,  with  a  naturalist,  and  hear  a  peculiar  laugh- 
ing, hawk-like  note.  "  That's  the  alarm  note  of  the 
hen  cuckoo,"  he  says.  An  association  is  thus  formed 
between  that  particular  sound  and  the  name 
"cuckoo,"  with  all  that  it  suggests.  And  hencefor- 
ward, so  long  as  the  association-link  holds  in  memory, 
that  sound  suggests  the  name  and  idea  of  a  cuckoo. 
I  well  remember  the  first  perch  I  caught.  I  had 
pulled  out  some  gudgeons,  and  held  them  firmly  in 
my  small  hand  to  unhook  them.     I  therefore  did  the 


ASSOCIATION  27 

same  with  the  perch,  and  had  painful  experience  of 
his  prickly  fin.  An  association  was  formed  between 
the  sight  of  a  perch  and  its  sharp  fin  spines  which 
led  me  to  be  more  careful  for  the  future. 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  point  out  how  important 
is  the  establishment  of  association-links  in  the  acquisi- 
tion of  practical  experience.  Our  cradle-days  are 
largely  spent  in  such  self-education.  Without  the 
formation  of  association-links  there  would  be  no 
profiting  by  experience.  Were  a  child  to  scald  his 
tongue  with  hot  porridge  fifty  times  in  succession,  of 
what  avail  would  it  be  to  him  if  the  sight  of  the  steam 
did  not  suggest  through  association  an  idea  of  the 
consequences  jireviously  experienced,  in  the  light  of 
which  he  could  exercise  control  over  his  actions  ? 
The  value  of  association  in  jiractical  experience  lies  ,. 
in  the  fact  that  ideas  are  suggested  with  sufficient 
rapidity  to  intervene  between  impressions  (such  as 
those  of  the  sight  of  steaming  porridge  and  the  burn- 
ing of  one's  mouth),  and  through  their  intervention 
render  possible  the  guidance  of  our  actions.  Our 
cradle-days,  I  repeat,  are  largely  spent  in  gaining 
experience  of  this  homely,  practical  kind,  thus  ren- 
dered available  through  association. 

And  when  we  pass  from  the  cradle  to  the  nursery, 
from  the  nursery  to  the  garden,  thence  to  the  playing- 
fields,  and  so  into  the  wide  world,  the  same  kind  of 
practical  self-education  through  experience  is  our 
constant  guide.  All  our  practical  acquaintance  with 
the  nature  of  things,  with  their  effects  on  each  other 
and  on  ourselves,  with  what  we  can  do  and  what  is 
beyond  our  powers, — all  this  is  rendered  serviceable 
to  us  through  association.     As  impression  after  im- 


28       PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

pression  glides  through  the  focus  of  consciousness, 
each  becomes  linked  through  association  to  its  succes- 
sor ;  and  as  it  fades  away  through  the  marginal  region, 
lapsing  more  or  less  rapidly  out  of  our  consciousness, 
it  does  not  pass  altogether  beyond  recall ;  for  the 
linkage  of  association  binds  the  whole  series  into  a 
chain.  Now,  if  the  nature  of  our  conscious  life  were 
such  as  always  to  present  us  with  new  impressions — 
no  one  impression  occurring  twice — this  association 
linkage  would  be  of  no  practical  service  or  value. 
For  the  law  of  suggestion  through  association  is  that 
when  two  focal  elements,  c  and  I,  succeed  each  other 
as  impressions,  the  subsequent  recurrence  of  c  will 
tend  to  suggest  the  recurrence  of  its  successor  I  as  an 
idea  ;  and  if  there  was  always  a  succession  of  new 
impressions,  it  is  clear  that  there  could  be  no  such 
recurrence  as  is  essential  for  suggestion  through  as- 
sociation. The  nature  of  our  practical  experience 
is,  however,  such  as  to  present  the  same  impressions,  / 
often  in  the  same  order  of  sequence,  again  and  again. 
And  the  law  of  suggestion  through  association  ex- 
presses the  fact  that  when  an  impression  c  does  so  re- 
cur, it  tends  to  suggest  an  idea  re-presentative  of  the 
impression  I  which  originally  followed  c.  If,  for  ex- 
ample, a  child  is  brought  into  the  study  of  his  father, 
who  is  a  smoker,  the  child  will  see  his  father  strike 
a  match,  will  hear  the  ' i  quick,  sharp  scratch,"  and 
will  see  the  spurt  of  flame.  These  will  become  as- 
sociated. When  on  a  subsequent  occasion  the  father 
takes  up  the  box  of  matches,  the  ideas  of  striking, 
of  the  sharp,  grating  sound,  of  the  flash  of  flame, 
will  be  suggested.  And  the  ideas  so  suggested  will 
be  reinforced  by  the  recurrence  of  the  series  of  im- 


ASSOCIATION  29 

pressions.  The  repetition  of  the  series  will  reinforce 
the  association,  and  will  render  the  recurrence  of  the 
ideas  in  due  sequence  on  a  subsequent  occasion  more 
probable. 

Association  thus  begets  expectations,  and  when  the 
expectations  are  repeatedly  fulfilled  they  grow  in 
strength  and  become  ingrained  in  the  mental  nature. 
It  is  through  these  expectations,  affording  as  they  do 
data  for  the  guidance  of  action,  that  experience  is 
practically  serviceable.  And  the  rudiments  of  this 
serviceable  experience  are  gained  in  the  cradle,  ex- 
tended and  strengthened  in  the  nursery,  and  amplified 
in  all  the  subsequent  practical  commerce  with  the 
world.  The  gaining  of  the  experience  is,  moreover, 
a  purely  individual  matter.  But  it  is  a  matter  in 
which  parents  and  teachers  afford  aid  and  guidance, 
j/'  Our  aim  here,  in  the  education  of  sense-experience,  is 
to  give  the  infant  or  the  child,  or  the  developing  boy 
or  girl,  opportunities  for  the  acquisition  of  healthy, 
wholesome  experience.  The  acquisition  itself  is  an 
individual  matter ;  all  that  we  can  do  is  to  secure 
satisfactory  conditions  for  self-development.  And 
this  is  a  matter  which  requires  tact  and  judgment. 
The  world  is  full  of  objects  which  are  either  at  once 
unpleasant  and  harmful,  or  pleasant  for  the  moment 
but  harmful  in  the  long  run.  We  have  to  furnish 
the  conditions  for  the  gradual  but  sure  acquisition  of 
experience  of  these  objects.  The  child  who  never 
has  a  chance  of  bruising  his  body  or  mind  against 
these  objects  will  not  be  prepared  to  avoid  contact 
with  them  when  he  is  older.  lie  will  have  to  gain 
his  experience  of  them  some  day  ;  when  this  day 
shall  come,  it  is  often  by  no  means  easy  to  decide. 


30       PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

So  far  we  have  been  considering  the  mere  sense- 
experience  of  the  world  in  which  the  child  develops 
from  infancy  to  manhood  ;  so  far  we  have  been  merely 
regarding  him  as  a  healthy,  active,  vigorous  animal, 
one  who  is  wide  awake  to  the  practical  nature  of 
things,  and  can  walk  snre-f  ootedly  along  the  path  of 
his  animal  life.  All  this  practical  experience  is  de- 
pendent npon  association ;  it  must  be  individually 
acquired,  but  it  may  be  acquired  under  conditions 
specially  presented.  The  presentation  of  these  ap- 
propriate conditions  falls  within  the  function  and 
office  of  the  teacher. 

But  man,  though  he  possesses  a  healthy  animal 
nature,  is  also  possessed  of  faculties  which  are  dis- 
tinctly human.  He  is,  for  example,  among  other 
things  a  talking  animal — one  who  can  communicate 
with  his  fellows.  And  it  is  clear  that  the  acquisition 
of  language,  the  medium  of  communication,  is  de- 
pendent upon  association.  The  child  who  sees  the 
dog,  hears  also  the  word  "dog,"  or  "bow-wow"; 
again  and  again  the  sight  of  the  animal  is  followed 
by  the  sound  of  its  name,  and  the  sound  followed  by 
sight.  The  two  become  closely  linked,  so  that  the  one 
suggests  the  other.  All  the  common  objects  of  daily 
sense-experience  are  thus  associated  with  sounds  of 
suggestive  value.  And  when  the  child  begins  him- 
self to  speak,  a  further  association  is  formed  between 
the  sight  of  the  object,  the  sound  of  its  name,  and 
the  impression  due  to  the  utterance  of  the  word. 
The  dog  seen  and  heard,  the  word  "  dog  "  or  "  bow- 
wow "  heard  and  uttered,  all  become  associated  to- 
gether. 

It  is  important  that,   so  far  as   is  possible,    the 


ASSOCIATION  31 

association  should  be  a  direct  one  between  a  sense-im- 
pression and  its  name.  We  give  our  children  picture- 
books  in  which  a  number  of  animals,  from  a  mouse  to 
an  elephant,  are  portrayed,  more  or  less  inaccurately, 
of  about  the  same  size.  The  child  learns  to  as- 
sociate names  with  some  or  all  of  these ;  but  I 
question  whether  such  associations  are  of  very  much 
value.  The  object  of  a  picture  is  to  suggest  to  the 
mind  that  which  is  pictured.  For  us  who  have  seen 
a  lion  or  a  rabbit,  the  pictures  of  these  animals  have 
due  suggestive  value  ;  for  us,  who  understand  scale 
and  perspective,  there  are  the  materials,  in  an  ade- 
quate picture,  for  recalling  to  mind  or  indicating  the 
animal  as  it  really  is.  But  for  the  child  the  impres- 
sion produced  by  the  picture  is  presumably  simply  a 
new  impression  of  a  particular  order,  and  has  little  or 
no  suggestive  value.  The  name  associated  becomes 
the  name  of  that  picture-impression,  not  the  name  of 
that  which  the  picture  represents.  A  child  who 
could  give  the  names  of  the  animals  in  his  natural 
history  picture-book  was  shown  a  shrew  mouse  and 
asked  what  it  was.  After  some  hesitation,  he  said  a 
tapir.  Possibly  it  was  the  long  snout  which  sug- 
gested this  answer.  It  is  always  well  to  establish 
associations  between  the  actual  objects  and  their 
names. 

When,  at  a  later  stage  of  his  development,  the  child 
is  learning  the  suggestive  value  of  written  symbols 
for  the  word-sounds  with  which  he  has  already  be- 
come acquainted,  further  associations  are  established. 
The  name  "dog"  as  heard  and  as  uttered  is  asso- 
ciated with  the  visual  impression  of  the  name  as  writ- 
ten or  printed,  and  sooner  or  later  with  the  motor 


32       PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

impressions  of  writing  the  name.  And  here  comes 
in  one  of  the  great  difficulties  which  both  the  child 
and  the  teacher  have  to  meet  and  overcome.  The 
word  "cat"  as  heard  is  a  comparatively  simple 
auditory  impression  ;  the  word  "  cat "  as  uttered 
affords  motor  impression  that  is  not  very  complex  ; 
and  the  word  "  cat "  as  seen  is  a  visual  impression  of 
no  great  complexity  ;  but  the  word  "  cat"  as  spelt  in- 
volves an  operation  of  no  little  difficulty.  It  involves 
the  analysis  of  the  word,  as  seen,  into  three  constitu- 
ents, c,  a,  and  t ;  no  one  of  these  three  constituents, 
as  named,  has  the  same  value,  either  for  hearing  or 
for  pronunciation,  as  it  has  in  combination  in  the 
word  "  cat w  ;  and  yet  the  child  has  to  grasp  that  when 
these  three  symbols  he  calls  c,  a,  t,  unite  to  form  the 
word,  that  word  is  pronounced  "  cat." 

With  the  analysis  and  synthesis  involved  in  spell- 
ing we  are,  however,  not  at  present  concerned.  It 
is  to  the  associations  involved  that  we  have  to  direct 
our  attention.  The  sound  (auditory  impression)  of 
the  word  "  cat,"  and  the  pronunciation  (motor  im- 
pression) of  the  same  word  have  already  been  asso- 
ciated with  each  other,  and  with  the  sight  (visual  im- 
pression) of  a  particular  animal  or  species  of  animals. 
These  are  now  further  associated  with  the  sight  of 
the  word  "cat"  as  written  or  printed.  On  the 
method  of  teaching  to  read  by  words  rather  than  by 
letters,  which  is  certainly  psychologically  justifiable, 
the  association  is  a  direct  one  between  the  sound  of 
the  word  and  the  visual  impression  of  the  word  as  a 
whole.  But  when  the  analysis  of  spelling  is  sub- 
sequently introduced,  further  associations  are  estab- 
lished, (1)  between  the  sight  of  the  constituent  "  c" 


ASSOCIATION  33 

by  itself  and  the  name  "  C"  which  we  give  it  ;  and 
(2)  between  thesightof  the  constituent  "c  "  as  com- 
bined with  "  at "  in  the  word  "oat/'  and  the  hard 
"  k"-sound  for  which  it  then  stands.  This  double  as- 
sociation is  not  very  simple,  and  is  somewhat  confus- 
ing. We  should  not  therefore  feel  surprised  if  the 
child  has  some  difficulty  in  mastering  it.  And  when 
the  child  begins  to  write,  yet  further  associations 
have  to  be  established  between  (1)  the  movements  of 
the  fingers  (motor  impressions)  necessary  to  form  the 
letter  "c,"  (2)  its  name  "  C"  and  (3)  its  "k" sound 
value  in  the  pronunciation  of  the  word  "cat."  In 
some  foreign  languages  these  initial  difficulties  are 
somewhat  reduced  ;  but  the  French  child  who  has  to 
struggle  with  ' '  chat"  is  not  much  better  off  than  the 
English  child  who  has  to  contend  with  "  cat." 

When,  now,  these  associations  have  been  estab- 
lished, the  sound  of  the  word  "  cat"  may  suggest  (1) 
a  visual  idea  of  the  animal,  or  (2)  a  visual  idea  of  the 
word  "cat,"  or  (3)  a  motor  idea  of  the  pronunciation 
of  that  word  ;  while  the  visual  idea  of  the  word  may 
further  suggest  its  analysis  in  spelling.  When  a  given 
impression  may  suggest  one  of  several  ideas — such  as 
those  numbered  (1),  (2),  (3)  above — we  speak  of 
divergent  association.  And,  conversely,  when  several 
impressions,  such  as  the  sound  of  the  word  "  cat," 
the  sight  of  the  word,  or  an  outline  picture  of  the 
animal,  suggest  the  same  idea — e.g.  the  visual  idea 
or  mental  image  of  the  animal — we  speak  of  conver- 
gent association.  Both  convergent  association  and 
divergent  association  are  of  great  psychological 
value. 

The  earliest  words  used  bv  (and  probably  also  the 
3 


34       PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

earliest  words  understood  by)  children  are  those  which 
are  symbolic  of  what  we  may  describe  as  elementary 
modes  of  conscious  experience,  such  as  sense-impres- 
sions, motor  impressions,  and  their  simple  emotional 
accompaniments.  Words  involving  impressions  of 
relation  come  later ;  but  the  manner  of  their  associa- 
tion with  the  modes  of  experience  they  symbolize  is 
of  like  nature  to  that  which  has  been  briefly  described. 
The  progress  of  the  child  in  the  use  of  language  is  to 
a  large  extent  the  index  of  its  progress  in  mental 
development.  We  are  not,  however,  at  present  en- 
deavoring to  trace  the  stages  of  this  development. 
Our  immediate  subject  is  association  ;  and  the  associa- 
tion of  words  with  the  modes  of  consciousness  they 
symbolize  is  throughout  similar  in  its  nature. 

A  good  deal  of  the  work  of  the  teacher  in  the  in- 
itial stages  of  education  is  concerned  with  the  estab- 
lishment of  associations  which  must  of  necessity  seem 
to  the  learner — in  so  far  as  he  troubles  his  little  head 
about  the  matter — quite  arbitrary.  It  is  rather  the 
fashion  nowadays  to  inveigh  against  learning  things 
parrot-fashion.  But  a  good  deal  of  parrot-work  is 
necessary  and  quite  unavoidable.  The  multiplication 
table,  the  tables  of  weights  and  measures,  the  vocabu- 
laries of  foreign  languages,  declensions  and  the  con- 
jugation of  verbs,  rules  and  their  exceptions,  the  dates 
of  certain  salient  events, — these  and  much  besides 
must  be  committed  to  memory,  that  is  to  say,  linked 
by  direct  association.  And  here  the  boy  or  girl  of 
strongly  tenacious  memory  has  a  great  advantage  over 
his  or  her  companions  who  are  less  favored  by 
natural  endowment.  There  would  seem  to  be  no 
necessary  connection  between  a  retentive  memory  and 


ASSOCIATION  35 

power  of  understanding  and  comprehending.  The 
boy  who  has  a  naturally  retentive  memory  is  one  in 
whose  mind  associations,  once  formed,  hold  good,  so 
that  when  once  c  has  been  associated  with  /,  the  re- 
currence of  c  at  once  and  with  certainty,  under  ap- 
propriate conditions,  suggests  I.  And  this  seems  to 
he  quite  independent  of  whether  the  relation  which 
c  bears  to  I  is  understood  or  not.  The  hoy  who  has 
such  a  memory  has,  I  repeat,  a  great  advantage  over 
his  fellows  in  the  early  stages  of  his  school  career, 
and  if  he  have  good  powers  of  understanding  as  well, 
the  advantage  is  a  permanent  one.  His  less  fortunate 
comrade  has  to  spend  far  more  time  -in  the  drudgery 
of  establishing  with  difficulty  abiding  association- 
links.  But,  however  good  his  understanding,  such 
drudgery  is  essential  if  he  is  to  attain  success.  Few 
subjects  are  more  dependent  on  understanding  and 
the  perception  of  relations  than  mathematics,  and  yet 
perhaps  in  no  subject  is  either  a  naturally  retentive 
memory  or  much  drudgery  in  the  establishment  of 
associations,  one  or  other,  more  essential.  Furnished 
myself  with  fairly  quick  understanding,  but  wretched 
natural  power  of  retentiveness,  I  had,  as  a  boy,  little 
difficulty  in  following  a  proposition  of  Euclid  or 
grasping  the  explanation  of  a  mathematical  problem. 
My  master,  pleased  with  my  quickness,  but  too  leni- 
ent to  insist  on  the  drudgery  which  was  absolutely 
necessary  in  my  case,  failed  to  make  me  acquire  that 
groundwork  of  fixed  associations  without  which  no 
one  can  become  a  mathematician.  And  for  this  in 
due  course  I  had  to  suffer. 

I  shall  not,  I  trust,  be  misunderstood  when  I  con- 
tend that  parrot-work  and  learning  by  rote,  often  a 


36  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

matter  of  somewhat  wearisome  drudgery,  are  essential 
for  the  establishment  of  associations  necessary  for 
mental  development.  Of  course  the  understanding 
must  be  trained  and  exercised  at  the  same  time. 
But  to  understand  and  to  remember,  or  to  be  in  a 
position  to  recollect,  are  not  the  same  thing,  and  are 
not  even  necessarily  connected.  And  if  we  would 
make  progress  in  knowledge,  we  must  remember  as 
well  as  understand.  There  can  be  little  question 
that,  for  child  as  for  adult,  the  exercise  of  the  under- 
standing is  more  pleasurable  than  learning  by  rote.  It 
is  part  of  the  art  of  the  teacher  to  preserve  a  due  pro- 
portional relation  between  drudgery  and  interest. 
And  much  may  be  done  to  lighten  the  drudgery  by 
sympathy.  Over  the  lintel  of  every  school  should  be 
engraved  the  precept :  Establish  a  background  of 
sympathy.  The  child  will  do  much  that  is  irksome 
to  give  pleasure  to  one  with  whom  he  is  in  sympathy. 
This  condition  of  sympathy  should  be  a  permanent 
element  in  the  marginal  region  of  the  consciousness 
both  of  teacher  and  of  taught. 

And  perhaps  nowhere  in  the  early  establishment  of 
associations  is  the  background  of  sympathy  more 
essential  than  in  the  matter  of  rewards  and  punish- 
ments ;  and  nowhere  is  tact  and  judgment  more 
urgently  required.  In  the  animal  life  of  sense-experi- 
ence the  commerce  with  the  world  brings  with  it, 
more  or  less  swiftly  and  directly,  its  pleasures  or  its 
pains.  And  these  associations  of  pleasurable  or 
painful  results  with  particular  actions  are  of  the 
utmost  service  in  the  guidance  of  life.  But  when  we 
are  laying  the  foundations  of  a  structure  of  knowledge, 
built  upon  the  solid  ground  of  sense-experience,  but 


ASSOCIATION  37 

rising  above  it,  these  natural  incentives  or  deterrents 
are  no  longer  of  the  same  guiding  value.  We  have 
to  institute  an  artificial  system  of  rewards  and 
punishments  as  incentives  to  industry  and  deterrents 
from  idleness  and  inattention.  What  the  rewards, 
what  the  punishments,  should  be,  and  how  they  should 
be  distributed,  it  is  not  for  me  to  say.  My  present 
business  is  to  draw  attention  to  the  fact  that  they 
involve  associations  ;  and  that  if  the  associations  are 
to  be  established,  and  to  have  really  guiding  value, 
it  is  essential  that  they  should  be  as  direct  and 
as  uniform  as  possible.  For  the  establishment  of 
associations,  it  is  of  no  use  to  reward  or  to  punish 
a  child  some  time  after  the  event ;  nor  is  it  of  any 
use  sometimes  to  punish  and  sometimes  to  let  alone. 
If  fire  sometimes  burnt  the  child's  fingers  and  some- 
times did  nothing  of  the  sort,  a  fixed  association  would 
never  be  established.  And  if  the  same  action  some- 
times leads  to  punishment  and  at  other  times  is 
winked  at,  all  the  associative  value  of  the  punish- 
ment is  lost.  Boys  much  prefer  a  master  who  is  uni- 
formly strict  to  one  who  is  sometimes  lenient  and  at 
other  times  exacting. 

Enough  has  now  been  said  to  show  how  important 
is  association  in  the  education  of  the  schoolroom  as  in 
the  life  of  sense-experience.  It  may  be  well,  however, 
before  passing  on  to  other  forms  of  association,  to 
point  out  that  all  the  teacher  can  do  in  this  matter  is 
to  afford  to  the  child,  boy  or  girl,  opportunities  for 
the  establishment  of  associations.  Mental  develop- 
ment is  an  individual  matter.  Each  must  establish 
his  own  association-links  for  himself.  No  one  can 
do  this  for  him.     The  art  of  education  is  the  art  of 


/ 


38       PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

furnishing  the  best  possible  conditions  for  self-de- 
velopment. 

Let  us  now  pass  on  to  consider  briefly  what  is 
termed  association  by  similarity.  Personally  I 
should  prefer  the  phrase  suggestion  by  similarity,  or 
better  still,  suggestion  by  resemblance.  A  short  time 
ago,  while  I  was  looking  at  Crook's  Peak  in  Mendip 
from  a  certain  point  of  view,  I  was  suddenly  reminded 
of  the  Corcovado  Mountain  on  the  Bay  of  Rio. 
There  was  sufficient  resemblance  between  the  two 
peaks  for  the  one  to  suggest  the  other.  The  sugges- 
tion having  once  occurred,  Crook's  Peak  having 
suggested  Corcovado,  the  impression  and  idea  became 
associated  by  contiguity,  and  thus  the  original  sug- 
gestion was  reinforced.  Now,  whenever  I  see  Crook's 
Peak,  the  Corcovado  is  brought  to  mind.  A  great 
deal  of  this  sort  of  thing  must  go  on  in  the  early  de- 
velopment of  sense-experience  ;  and  it  is  further  en- 
forced in  the  initial  stages  of  education.  The  child 
is  well  acquainted  with  Spot,  the  family  fox-terrier 
— calls  it  "  'Pot,"  perhaps.  It  sees,  out  of  doors, 
another  terrier,  bigger  and  without  the  great  black 
patch  round  the  left  eye,  but  on  the  whole  resem- 
bling Spot ;  and  at  once  calls  out  "'Pot."  As  the 
child  learns  the  use  of  words,  the  range  and  limits 
of  suggestion  by  resemblance  must  be  gradually 
brought  home.  Our  nouns  are,  many  of  them, 
common  names  for  a  group  of  objects  associated 
together  in  virtue  of  certain  resemblances,  and 
giving  rise  to  generic  ideas. 

In  teaching  a  child,  we  are  constantly  indicating 
differences  and  distinctions  as  well  as  similarities  and 
resemblances.    We  teach  him  to  group  things  together 


ASSOCIATION  39 

in  virtue  of  their  general  resemblances,  and  to  distin- 
guish within  the  group  in  virtue  of  particular  differ- 
ences. This  buttercup  is  different  from  that  daisy, 
but  both  are  flowers  ;  this  dog  is  different  from  that 
cat,  but  both  are  animals ;  Mabel  is  different  from 
Lucy,  but  both  are  girls  ;  and  so  on  in  a  great  num- 
ber of  cases.  This  constant  habit  of  comparing 
things  begets  a  tendency  in  a  quick-witted  child  to 
be  on  the  lookout  not  only  for  resemblance,  but  also 
for  contrast.  And  as  this  habit  becomes  more  and 
more  established  with  passing  years  and  growing  ex- 
perience, there  is  an  increasing  tendency  for  things 
to  suggest  not  only  their  likes  but  their  opposites. 
To  suggestion  by  resemblance  is  added  suggestion  hy 
contrast.  And  when  such  contrasts  have  been  sug- 
gested, they  become  associated  by  contiguity,  and 
the  subsequent  suggestion  is  thus  reinforced.  The 
language  of  description  constantly  uses  resemblance 
and  contrast  side  by  side,  the  one  to  enforce  the 
other.  The  wing  of  the  penguin,  we  say,  is  like  the 
flipper  of  the  seal,  and  very  different  from  the  wing 
of  a  swift  or  a  seagull.  The  sea  looked  dull  and 
gloomy,  there  was  no  life  or  brightness  in  the  scene. 
A  is  slow,  sure,  and  industrious,  and  quite  unlike 
the  brilliant  but  terribly  idle  Z.  And  so  in  a  num- 
ber of  other  similar  cases,  which  will  readily  suggest 
themselves  (by  similarity). 

When  the  child  begins  to  perceive  the  relations  of 
objects  to  each  other,  and  begins  to  dissociate  quali- 
ties from  the  things  which,  as  we  say,  possess  these 
qualities,  something  more  than  mere  resemblance  is 
suggested,  namely,  similarity  of  relationship.  It 
might  be  well  to  reserve    the  phrase  suggestion    hy 


40       PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

similarity  for  those  cases  which  involve  a  similarity 
of  relations,  employing  the  phrase  i(  suggestion  by 
resemblance  "  for  those  cases  in  which  there  is  an  ob- 
vious likeness  of  objects  of  sense-experience  to  each 
other.  Most  cases  of  suggestion  by  contrast  involve 
contrast  of  relations.  And  in  those  cases  which  were 
alluded  to  at  the  end  of  the  last  paragraph,  where 
similarity  and  contrast  are  employed  for  descriptive 
or  explanatory  purposes,  it  is  the  relationships  which 
are  of  specially  suggestive  import. 

The  language  of  the  poet  is  full  of  suggestions  by 
resemblance,  similarity,  and  contrast.  I  will  illus- 
trate this  by  a  few  examples  from  Tennyson.  Resem- 
blance prompts  such  lines  as, 

"  A  brow 

May-blossoms,  and  a  cheek  of  apple-blossom." 

"  And  her  hair 
In  gloss  and  hue  the  chestnut,  when  the  shell 
Divides  threefold  to  show  the  fruit  within." 

But  it  is  similarity  of  relations  which  is  suggest- 
ive in 

"  A  rosebud  set  with  little  wilful  thorns, 
And  sweet  as  English  air  could  make  her." 

There  is  more  of  similarity  than  resemblance  in 

"  A  laugh, 
Ringing  like  proven  golden  coinage  true." 

So  too  in  the  question, 

"Was  he  not 
A  full-cell'd  honeycomb  of  eloquence, 

Stored  from  all  flowers  ?  " 

The  alternate  cloud  and  sunshine  of  April  suggest 
the  comparison  of  the  lines, 


ASSOCIATION  41 

"  And  hopes  and  light  regrets  that  come, 
Make  April  of  her  tender  eyes." 

A  somewhat  similar  thought  occurs  again  in 

"  So  sweetly  gleam'd  her  eyes  behind  her  tears, 
Like  sunlight  on  the  plain  behind  a  shower." 

One  or  two  more  examples  of  analogies  drawn 
from  Nature  must  suffice. 

"  A  doubtful  throne  is  ice  on  summer  seas." 

This  simile  was  no  doubt  suggested  by  the  insta- 
bility of  the  equilibrium  of  an  iceberg  melting  in  a 
warm  current.  The  suggestiveness  of  flowers  was 
always  great  and  varied  for  Tennyson. 

"  Wearing  the  white  flower  of  a  blameless  life." 

"  Wait,  and  Love  himself  will  bring 
The  drooping  flower  of  knowledge  changed  to  fruit 
Of  wisdom." 

My  last  example  of  such  suggestions  by  similarity 
is  a  rather  more  complex  one,  in  which  an  analogy 
is  drawn  between  the  forging  of  metal  and  the  forging 
of  character.     It  occurs  In  Memoriam — 

"  Life  is  not  as  idle  ore, 

But  iron  dug  from  central  gloom, 
And  heated  hot  with  burning  fears, 
And  dipt  in  baths  of  hissing  tears, 

And  batter' d  with  the  shocks  of  doom 
To  shape  and  use." 

By  the  man  of  science,  as  by  the  poet,  suggestion 
by  similarity,  with  occasional  illustrative  contrast,  is 
constantly  used  in  description  and  in  explanation. 
The  moon,  we  say,  is  continually  falling  towards  the 
earth,  as  a  stone  falls  towards  the  ground  ;  or,  the 
moon  swings  round  the  earth  as  a  ball  at  the  end  of 


42       PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

a  string  swings  round  your  hand.  Just  as  the 
straight-falling  raindrops  seem  to  be  slanting  to  a 
man  who  is  driving  rapidly  in  a  dogcart,  so  do  the 
rays  of  light  from  distant  stars  seem  to  change  their 
direction  as  the  earth  whirls  round  in  her  orbital 
course.  Just  as  the  artificial  selection  of  the  gardener 
tends  to  the  preservation  of  the  strongest  and  most 
beautiful  plants,  so  does  the  destruction  of  the  weakly 
and  imperfect,  in  the  natural  struggle  for  existence 
among  organisms,  tend  to  the  survival  of  the  strong- 
est and  healthiest.  Just  as,  to  give  one  more  ex- 
ample, pressure  will  squeeze  ice  into  the  condition 
of  water,  because  water  expands  on  freezing,  so  will 
pressure  squeeze  molten  rock  into  the  solid  condition 
because  molten  rock  contracts  on  solidifying.  This 
last  example  shows  how  a  fairly  simple  process  of  rea- 
soning is  based  on  an  insight  into  inverse  similarity 
of  relations. 

It  may,  I  think,  be  fairly  said  that,  while  sugges- 
tion directly  due  to  association  by  contiguity  is  that 
which  chiefly  determines  the  sequence  of  ideas  in  the 
lower  stages  of  mental  development  and  during  the 
earlier  months  or  years  of  child-life,  and  while  sug- 
gestion by  resemblance  follows  thereon  ;  all  the  more 
subtle  and  delicate  sequence  of  ideas  in  our  adult 
life  is  due  to  suggestion  through  similarity  or  con- 
trast. 

We  must  now  revert  to  association  by  contiguity 
that  we  may  take  note  of  a  qualifying  clause  in  our 
statement.  If  anv  two  focal  elements  in  conscious- 
ness,  c  and  I,  occur  in  successive  moments  of  con- 
sciousness as  impressions,  the  subsequent  recurrence 
of  c  as  impression  or  idea  will  tend  under  similar 


ASSOCIATION  43 

marginal  conditions,  to  suggest  the  recurrence  of  I 
as  mi  idea.  The  clause  to  which  we  have  now  to 
direct  our  attention  is  that  which  is  here  italicized. 
In  practical  experience  c  has  not  only  become  asso- 
ciated with  I,  but  also  with  f,  r,  and  y.  This  was 
described  as  divergent  association.  The  sound  of 
the  word  "cat"  is  associated  with  the  visual  image 
of  the  animal,  the  visual  image  of  the  word,  the  pro- 
nunciation of  the  word,  the  writing  of  the  word. 
The  marginal  conditions  of  the  moment  determine 
which  of  the  divergent  lines  of  association  shall  be 
followed.  Under  the  marginal  conditions  of  repeat- 
ing what  the  teacher  reads,  the  pronunciation  of  the 
word  is  suggested ;  under  the  marginal  conditions  of 
dictation,  the  writing  of  the  word  ;  under  the  mar- 
ginal conditions  of  a  walk  in  the  garden,  the  visual 
image  of  the  animal  will  probably  be  suggested.  A 
great  number  of  our  words  have  divergent  associa- 
tions ;  and  yet,  when  we  meet  them  in  their  proper 
places  in  the  sentence,  we  are  seldom  at  fault  in  tak- 
ing the  particular  suggestion  intended  by  the  author. 
This  is  because  the  whole  sentence,  and  what  has 
preceded  it,  creates  the  requisite  marginal  conditions. 
If  Ave  say,  "Sauntering  along  the  well-kepi  gravel 
walk,  she  admired  the  low,  neatly-trimmed  edging 
of  box,"  few  will  misunderstand  us,  though  the  word 
"box"  is  one  with  many  divergent  associations. 
For  young  children,  whose  experience  is  necessarily 
limited,  most  words  have  only  particular  associations  ; 
and  this  is  one  cause  of  their  apparent  inattention. 
If  the  word  "  dog,"  for  example,  is  at  once  suggest- 
ive of  Spot,  the  family  fox-terrier,  directly  that  word 
occurs  in  the  child's  sentence,  away  tlies  the  little 


44  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

mind  to  the  particular  animal,  and  the  reading  lesson 
becomes  hazily  marginal.  We  all  of  us  know  how 
readily  some  chance  expression  of  a  speaker  or 
preacher  may  suggest  something  of  particular  inter- 
est to  us,  and  how  our  attention  is  thus  diverted  from 
what  he  is  saying. 

The  relation  of  the  focal  impression  or  idea  to  the 
margin  of  consciousness  gives  rise  to  what  is  termed 
simultaneous  association,  or  the  association  through 
contiguity  of  focus  and  margin.  It  is  not,  be  it  noted, 
an  association  of  impressions  and  ideas,  as  we  have  de- 
fined these  terms,  but  an  association  of  the  impression 
or  idea  with  its  marginal  setting,  or  with  some  ele- 
ments therein.  Thus,  we  chance  to  meet  a  man  of 
striking  or  peculiar  appearance  in  the  street.  Sub- 
sequently we  meet  him  at  dinner  ;  and  the  sight  of 
his  face  suggests  the  marginal  setting  of  the  street 
scene  in  which  on  the  former  occasion  he  was  focal. 
Or  we  are  reading  Tennyson  in  the  open  air,  which  is 
perfumed  with  the  scent  of  gorse.  Subsequently 
the  scent  of  gorse  suggests  some  passage  which  we 
were  enjoying  at  the  time.  All  that  we  have  learned 
concerning  the  intimate  relation  of  focus  and  margin 
in  the  state  of  consciousness  will  help  us  to  appreciate 
the  importance  and  the  reality  of  this  simultaneous 
association.  It  is  through  this  association  that  focus 
and  margin  are  so  knit  together  that  in  the  moments 
of  recall  they  are  jointly  re-presented  in  the  new 
marginal  setting  of  that  moment. 

Furthermore,  the  relation  of  the  focal  impression 
or  idea  to  the  margin  of  consciousness  is — or  is  a  most 
important  factor  in — what  we  term  interest.  The 
interest  may  be  a  special  one,  arising  out  of  what  our 


ASSOCIATION  45 

minds  are  occupied  with  at  the  time  in  question  ;  or 
it  may  be  a  general  one,  connected  with  our  natural 
and  habitual  mental  bias.  Attention  follows  the  line 
of  interest ;  and  it  is  questionable  whether  we  can 
attend,  at  any  rate  at  all  continuously,  to  that  which 
possesses  for  us  absolutely  no  interest.  Hence,  we 
must  do  our  best  to  surround  with  some  sort  of  in- 
terest that  drudgery  which  is  necessary  for  the 
establishment  of  useful  associations. 

It  only  remains,  in  concluding  this  chapter,  to  say 
a  few  words  on  the  art  of  recollecting.  Both  remem- 
bering and  recollecting  are  based  on  association.  In 
remembering,  association  suggests,  without  effort, 
that  of  which  we  are  thus  reminded.  But  when  we 
fail  to  remember,  we  must  try  to  recollect.  And  while 
remembering  is  probably,  as  before  stated,  a  natural 
gift  which  can  scarcely  if  at  all  be  improved,  the 
art  of  recollecting  is  one  which  can  be  cultivated  and 
very  greatly  improved.  For  this  purpose  the  fact 
which  we  wish  to  recollect  must  be  fitted  in  to  some 
system  and  associated  in  that  system  by  several  diver- 
gent links.  It  must  be  somehow  tacked  on  to  our 
interests.  If  once  a  fact  be  well  incorporated  in  a 
system  which  interests  us,  it  has  as  good  a  chance  of 
being  recollected  as  we  can  give  it.  Of  course,  the 
more  natural  the  system  is,  the  better  ;  but  any 
system  is  better  than  none.  The  very  fact  of  con- 
sciously and  of  set  purpose  incorporating  new  facts 
in  a  system  necessitates  dwelling  on  them  and  attend- 
ing to  them,  which  facilitates  their  recollection  at  a 
future  time.  It  is  well  also  to  form  association-links 
with  as  many  allied  impressions  as  possible,  such  as 
sight,  hearing,  pronunciation,  and  writing  ;  and  to 


46       PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

strengthen  the  linkage  by  repetition  at  intervals. 
This  may  be  illustrated  by  a  simple  and  a  more  com- 
plex example.  We  wish  to  fix  in  our  memory  where 
St.  Alban's  Head  is.  To  do  so,  we  must  fit  it  into 
our  system  of  geographical  knowledge.  This  bold 
headland  lies  about  midway  between  Swanage  and 
Weymouth.  We  look  it  out  in  the  map  of  Dorset- 
shire, and  thus  add  a  visual  impression  to  reinforce 
the  auditory  impression  and  the  motor  impressions 
due  to  repeating  the  words.  We  thus  establish  a 
number  of  systems  in  divergent  associations.  In 
afterwards  seeking  to  recollect,  we  use  these  divergent 
lines  as  convergent  upon  St.  Alban's  Head.  It  may 
be  that  we  cannot  recall  whereabouts  it  was  on  the 
coast-line.  But  the  thought  of  the  map  suggests 
Dorsetshire,  and  this  gives  a  visual  image  of  the 
coast-line ;  and  Swanage- Weymouth  shoots  across 
the  mind.  Again  :  We  wish  to  fix  in  memory  that 
the  tooth  of  a  fish  called  Ceratodus  is  found  in  a  cer- 
tain geological  stratum  at  Aust  Cliff.  We  examine 
the  tooth ;  pronounce,  write,  and  look  at  the  name 
"  Ceratodus"  ;  think  of  its  derivation  {keras,  horn  ; 
odous,  tooth)  ;  consider  its  appropriateness  ;  think 
of  the  zoological  nature  of  the  fish  and  its  relation 
to  a  similar  fish  now  found  in  Queensland  ;  look  out 
Aust  on  the  map  ;  learn  that  the  "  old  passage  "  of  the 
Severn  was  here  ;  get  a  geological  section  of  the  beds 
in  the  cliff,  and  perceive  the  relation  of  the  bone-bed  in 
which  it  is  found  to  the  other  beds ;  and  generally 
consider  the  geological  relations  of  the  particular  stra- 
tum. In  this  way  we  wedge  Ceratodus  pretty  secure- 
ly into  our  system  of  knowledge,  and  link  it  by  many 
lines  of  association  with  what  we  previously  knew. 


CHAPTEK  III 

EXPERIENCE 

The  sequence  of  impressions  in  any  series  of  mo- 
ments of  consciousness  is  directly  due  to  the  sequence 
of  stimuli  coming  from  external  objects  or  from 
various  parts  of  our  own  bodily  organs.  When  we  are 
out  for  a  country  walk,  for  example,  the  sights,  sounds, 
scents  of  nature  give  rise  to  a  number  of  impressions, 
while  other  impressions  may  be  produced  by  the 
movements  of  our  limbs,  our  free  and  quickened 
breathing,  and  the  general  glow  of  active  life  through- 
out our  bodily  frames.  If  we  consider,  not  only  the 
focal  impressions,  but  the  states  of  consciousness  in 
their  entirety — that  is,  including  both  focal  and  mar- 
ginal elements — we  find  that  the  presentative  im- 
pressions, such  as  the  sight  of  field  or  flower  or  bird, 
the  scent  of  the  honeysuckle  or  the  song  of  the  lark, 
are  set  in  a  presentative  background  due  to  stimuli 
of  the  same  kind  as  those  which  give  rise  to  impres- 
sions, but  less  prominent  and  intense.  The  glow  of 
healthy  active  life  may  not  be  specially  attended  to 
so  as  to  be  focal  to  consciousness  ;  but  it  none  the  1< 
affects  the  states  of  consciousness  of  which  it  forms  a 
subordinate  part. 

On  the  other  hand,  when  we  have  a  sequence  of 

47 


48  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

ideas — sitting  perhaps  in  the  twilight  and  letting  onr 
thoughts  run  their  course  without  much  interference 
from  the  intrusion  of  impressions — this  sequence  of 
ideas  is  due  to  suggestion  by  contiguity  or  by  simi- 
larity. In  the  case  of  suggestion  by  contiguity  the 
original  linkage  was  one  of  direct  sequence  of  im- 
pressions ;  but  though  every  link  of  the  chain  was 
thus  forged  in  presentative  experience,  the  links  are 
recombined  in  a  new  way  ;  so  that  we  may  describe 
the  reverie  as  a  new  chain  of  old  links.  But  where 
suggestions  by  similarity  arise,  these  may  be  wholly 
new ;  they  are  part  of  our  individuality,  and  give 
originality  to  our  thought.  A  similarity  may  strike 
us  which  has  struck  no  one  else.  This  forms  part  of 
what  is  called  imagination.  And  just  as  in  a  sequence 
of  impressions  there  is  a  background  of  presentative 
elements  forming  the  margin  of  the  states  of  cons- 
ciousness, so  too  in  a  sequence  of  ideas  there  are 
a  number  of  re-presentative  elements  filling  in  the 
background.  These  are  not  ideas,  for  they  are  not 
in  the  focus  of  consciousness  ;  but  they  are  of  the 
same  stuff  of  which  ideas  are  constituted. 

Practically  we  seldom  or  never  have  a  sequence  that 
is  either  altogether  presentative  or  altogether  repre- 
sentative. When  we  are  out  for  the  country  walk, 
there  are  not  only  impressions  but  also  ideas  which 
they  suggest ;  and  the  impressions  and  ideas  follow 
each  other  in  rapid  sequence.  The  background,  too, 
is  not  wholly  presentative,  it  has  re-presentative 
elements  as  well.  In  our  twilight  reverie  we  cannot 
altogether  exclude  impressions,  while  in  the  back- 
ground, or  marginal  region  of  consciousness,  there  are 
sights,  sounds,  pressures  and  presentative  elements 


EXPERIENCE  49 

furnished  by  the  immediate  condition  of  our  bodies. 
The  states  of  consciousness  are  thus  in  either  case 
very  complex  ;  and  this  cannot  be  too  fully  realized. 
When  we  are  dealing  with  impressions  or  ideas,  we 
must  remember  that  we  are,  so  to  speak,  plucking  the 
eyes  out  of  our  states  of  consciousness  and  examin- 
ing them  separately.  The  natural  position  of  the 
eye  is  in  the  body.  And  the  natural  position  of  the 
impression  or  the  idea  is  in  the  body  of  the  state  of 
consciousness.  We  analyze  the  state  of  consciousness, 
and  thus  reach  the  impression  or  the  idea  as  the  re- 
sult of  our  analysis.  We  must  not  forget,  however, 
that,  as  we  actually  experience  it,  the  impression  or 
the  idea  is  only  part  of  a  state  of  consciousness. 

Now,  with  regard  to  experience,  the  first  thing 
that  is  tolerably  clear  and  obvious  is  that  it  is  a  matter 
of  impressions  and  the  directly  presentative  elements 
in  consciousness.  For  every  sense-idea  we  must  have 
had  direct  experience  of  its  corresponding  sense-im- 
pression ;  for  every  motor  idea,  a  motor  impression  ; 
for  every  idea  of  relation,  a  basis  in  practical  expe- 
rience. It  is  true  that  the  reach  of  our  thought  ex- 
ceeds the  range  of  our  experience;  it  is  true  that, 
through  imagination,  we  recombine  our  experience 
in  new  modes  ;  this  does,  however,  but  emphasize  the 
fact  that  the  experience  itself  is  a  matter  of  direct 
acquaintance  witli  what  is  immediately  presented  to 
consciousness.  Even  our  higher  flights  of  thought 
and  imagination,  if  they  have  no  basis  in  experience, 
are  of  little  worth.  It  is  one  of  the  aims  of  education 
to  furnish  the  conditions  for  the  acquisition  of  a  solid 
basis  of  experience.  The  second  point  to  be  noticed 
is  that  the  practical  value  of  experience  is  to  afford 

2 


50       PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

the  requisite  data  for  the  guidance  of  action  and  con- 
duct ;  while  one  of  the  aims  of  action  and  conduct 
is  to  extend  and  establish  the  experience  already 
gained. 

Our  bodies  are  so  formed  that  we  actively  respond 
to  certain  stimuli.  A  tickling  of  the  feet  causes  the 
withdrawal  of  the  leg,  a  slight  irritation  of  the  deli- 
cate membrane  of  the  nose  gives  rise  to  a  sneeze.  If, 
when  a  child  a  few  months  old  is  looking  at  your  face, 
a  bright  object  appear  in  the  marginal  region  of  its 
field  of  vision,  the  eyes  are  drawn  away  from  your 
face  to  make  the  bright  object  focal.  Such  active 
responses  to  stimuli  are  called  reflex  actions.  They 
are  also  often  spoken  of  as  automatic,  though  the 
word  is  not  always  used  in  this  sense.  The  ability  to 
respond  in  these  ways  is  a  portion  of  our  natural  in- 
heritance, and  forms  part  of  the  first  raw  material  of 
experience.  Automatism  is  thus  the  primary  factor 
in  our  active  life.  The  secondary  factor  is  control ; 
and  this  control  is  rendered  possible  of  practical  ap- 
plication through  association  and  what  is  termed 
correlation.  By  control  is  meant  the  conscious 
guidance  of  our  actions  in  the  light  of  previous  ex- 
perience. If,  to  take  an  example  previously  given, 
the  sight  of  steaming  porridge  is  associated  with 
burning  one's  tongue,  control  can  be  exercised  over 
one's  action  in  the  future,  and  unpleasant  conse- 
quences may  be  avoided.  In  the  early  months  of  life 
we  are  constantly  making  new  experiments  in  the 
putting  forth  of  our  inherited  powers  of  activity. 
We  select  the  successful  and  satisfactory  modes  of 
action  for  repetition,  and  hold  in  check  those  which  are 
unsuccessful  or  lead  to  unpleasant  or  painful  results. 


EXPERIENCE  51 

The  growth  of  experience  envolves  a  continual  cor- 
relation of  the  data  afforded  by  sensation.  By  this 
expression  it  is  meant  that  the  impressions  and  ideas 
and  the  marginal  data  of  the  special  senses,  together 
with  those  derived  from  the  parts  concerned  in  the 
movements  of  our  bodily  organs,  are  brought  into 
such  relation  to  each  other  as  to  have  suggestive 
value.  If,  when  a  child  is  gazing  about  here  and 
there,  a  sweet  is  brought  within  his  range  of  vision, 
so  soon  as  it  falls  within  the  margin  of  the  visual  field, 
the  eyes  are  so  moved  as  to  bring  it  to  the  focus  of 
vision  ;  the  hand  is  then  stretched  out  to  touch  and 
seize  it,  and  it  is  conveyed  to  the  mouth.  This  in- 
volves a  correlation  of  the  data  afforded  by  the  special 
senses,  sight,  touch,  and  taste  ;  and  a  further  correla- 
tion of  these  with  the  sensory  data  afforded  by  the 
movements  of  the  eyes,  the  hand  and  arm,  and  the 
mouth.  The  stimulus  in  the  margin  of  the  visual 
field  leads  to  the  movements  of  the  eyes  necessary  to 
render  the  sweet  focal  in  vision  ;  the  impression  so 
produced  suggests  the  ideas  of  the  movements  of  hand 
and  arm  which  will  enable  the  child  to  grasp  the 
sweet ;  ideas  of  taste  are  at  the  same  time  suggested  ; 
and  these  ideas  of  movement  and  of  taste  are  followed 
by  their  corresponding  impressions  as  the  actions  are 
carried  out  and  the  sweet  taken  into  the  mouth. 

When  we  are  regarding  the  matter  from  the  point 
of  view  of  the  acquisition  and  organizing  of  experi- 
ence, we  speak  of  the  correlation  of  the  data  afforded 
by  the  special  senses  among  each  other,  and  with 
those  due  to  movements.  But  when  we  regard  the 
matter  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  putting  forth  of 
the  activities,  we  speak  of  the  co-ordination  of  these 


52  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

activities.  All  matters  of  skill  in  the  use  of  our 
bodily  organs  involve  this  co-ordination.  A  very 
great  number  of  muscles  are  concerned  in  what  we 
are  wont  to  regard  as  comparatively  simple  activities, 
such  as  walking  or  speaking.  All  these  muscles  have 
to  be  called  into  play  in  due  degree  and  with  nicely 
balanced  activity.  We  are  not,  however,  conscious  of 
the  details  of  this  process,  which  is,  in  fact,  a  physi- 
ological one.  What  we  are  conscious  of  is  the  net  re- 
sult of  the  process.  We  are  conscious,  that  is  to  say, 
of  the  activity  as  a  whole,  not  of  the  individual  play 
of  all  the  muscles  which  bring  about  the  activity. 
And  the  method  of  acquiring  skill  in  the  co-ordina- 
tion of  activities  is  that  of  trial  and  error  ;  the  select- 
ing of  the  successful  results  for  repetition,  and  the 
checking  of  the  unsuccessful  results.  This  is  clearly 
a  matter  of  control.  Indeed  we  may  say  that  control 
is  primarily  exercised  over  our  bodily  activities  in  the 
guidance  of  our  life  of  free  movement.  Nice  and 
accurate  co-ordination  is  the  outcome  of  nice  and  ac- 
curate correlation  of  the  data  afforded  by  experience. 
Let  us  now  take  one  or  two  more  examples  of  cor- 
relation. Suppose  that  we  were  blind  and  deaf; 
then,  so  far  as  our  active  life  was  concerned,  we 
should  be  almost  entirely  limited  to  a  correlation  of 
the  data  afforded  by  touch  and  pressure  among 
themselves,  and  with  the  data  afforded  to  conscious- 
ness by  the  movements  of  our  limbs.  As  we  felt  our 
way  about  the  world,  touches  or  pressures  in  various 
parts  of  our  bodies  would  be  correctly  localized,  and 
associations  would  be  formed  between  such  experi- 
ences and  the  movements  of  our  limbs.  The  hands, 
and  especially  the  finger  tips,  are  the  central  organs 


EXPERIENCE  53 

of  touch.  If,  as  we  felt  about  the  table,  something 
came  in  contact  with  our  arm,  we  should  at  once 
bring  the  hand  and  fingers  to  bear  upon  it,  that  we 
might  feel  out  what  it  was  ;  as  indeed  we  all  do  when 
we  are  feeling  for  something  in  the  dark.  Thus  we 
should  organize  what  is  called  a  field  of  touch. 

Now,  suppose  that  to  the  sense  of  touch  we  add 
the  sense  of  sight.  This  enables  us  to  feel  about  us, 
so  to  speak,  in  a  wider  field.  First  of  all,  there  is  a 
correlation  between  visual  data  and  the  sensations  of 
movement  in  the  eyes.  The  field  of  vision  becomes 
most  delicately  and  accurately  organized,  so  that,  if 
any  visual  object  appears  in  the  margin  of  that  field, 
we  can  at  once  move  the  eyes  in  such  a  way  as  to 
make  the  object  focal.  And  this  involves,  not  merely 
common  movements  of  the  two  eyes  in  their  sockets, 
but  movements  of  convergence  of  the  two  eyes,  and 
movements  inside  the  eyes,  which  are  necessary  for 
the  accommodation  of  vision  to  various  distances. 
Hold  a  pencil-point  about  ten  inches  from  the  eyes, 
and  alternately  fix  them  upon  this  point  and  on  some 
distant  point  on  the  wall  or  out  of  doors.  You  will 
feel  the  movements  of  convergence  and  accommoda- 
fion  as  you  pass  from  one  to  the  other.  The  visual 
experience  of  seeing  an  object  at  a  given  distance  is 
due  to  a  combination  of  visual  sensations  and  motor 
sensations  in  the  eves  and  their  sockets.  Such  an 
intimate  coalescence  of  diverse  sensations  to  produce 
an  impression  is  a  good  example  of  what  is  termed 
mental  synthesis.  The  product  of  the  synthesis — 
which  is  a  natural  and  involuntary  process,  not  one 
that  is  intentional  and  voluntary — has  not,  for  practi- 
cal experience,  any  reference    to  motor  sensations. 


54  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

The  motor  sensations  of  convergence  and  accommoda- 
tion are  not  recognized  as  such,  but  make  us  aware 
that  the  object  of  vision  is  situated  out  there  at  a 
certain  distance  from  us.  And  so  completely  do 
these  motor  sensations  coalesce  with  the  visual  sensa- 
tions in  the  impression,  that  very  few  of  us  are 
acquainted  with  the  fact  that  the  sense  of  distance 
in  vision  is  due  to  motor  elements  in  consciousness. 

The  distance  element  in  vision  is,  however,  corre- 
lated with  other  motor  elements.  The  child  who 
sees  a  sweet  on  the  table  before  him,  reaches  out  his 
hand  to  take  it  up.  Visual  distance  at  once  suggests 
distance  for  touch.  And  if  the  object  is  farther  off, 
so  that  he  has  to  go  to  it  in  order  to  reach  it, 
visual  distance  is  correlated  with  distance  for  locomo- 
tion. Thus  the  field  of  vision  and  the  fields  of  touch 
and  of  free  movement  are  correlated.  Furthermore, 
as  we  stretch  out  our  hand  to  seize  an  object  within 
our  reach,  we  see  it  cross  the  field  of  vision  ;  and  a 
correlation  is  established  between  the  movements  of 
our  limbs,  as  seen,  and  the  same  movements,  as  given 
in  motor  sensation.  Again,  if  we  fix  our  eyes  upon 
some  object  and  then  move  our  hand  in  front  of  our 
face,  still  keeping  the  eyes  fixed,  we  see  the  hand 
cross  the  field  of  vision  from  margin  to  margin  ;  and 
if  then,  releasing  our  eyes  from  the  object  on  which 
they  have  been  fixed,  we  allow  them  to  follow  the 
movements  of  the  hand,  we  experience  a  series  of 
motor  sensations  as  the  eyes  follow  the  hand.  In  the 
one  case  the  movement  is  a  change  of  the  position  of 
an  object  in  the  field  of  vision  ;  in  the  other  case  it 
is  a  change  of  position  in  the  organs  of  vision.  Or, 
take  another  example.     As  I  write,  the  rooks  are  re- 


EXPERIENCE  55 

turning  to  their  nests  and  flying  westwards  past  my 
window.  I  fix  my  eyes  on  the  corner  of  the  opposite 
house,  and  rook  after  rook  enters  and  crosses  the 
margin  of  my  visual  field.  My  eyes  remain  fixed  all 
the  time.  But  now  I  fix  my  eyes  upon  a  certain  rook 
and  follow  him  across  the  sky,  keeping  him  steadily  in 
focus.  As  I  do  so,  the  house  and  trees  opposite  and 
the  clouds  in  the  sky  seem  to  drift  across  my  visual 
field  as  my  eyes  move,  following  the  bird.  Thus, 
when  my  eyes  are  fixed  there  is  a  real  movement  of 
the  external  object,  the  rook,  across  the  field  of 
vision  ;  and  when  my  eyes  follow  the  rook  there  is 
(1)  a  real  movement  of  the  eyes,  and  (2)  an  apparent 
movement  of  the  fixed  objects  round  me,  the  house, 
trees,  and  clouds.  All  these  changes  in  the  field  of 
vision  and  movements  of  the  eyes  have  to  be  corre- 
lated. When  our  bodies  as  a  whole  are  also  in  move- 
ment, further  correlations  are  necessary.  These  are 
soon  completely  established  for  our  ordinary  move- 
ments of  walking  and  running;  but  for  unusual 
movements  the  correlation  is  often  imperfect.  I 
traveled  in  the  train  a  short  time  ago  with  a  child 
who  was  making  her  first  railway  journey.  "  What 
makes  all  the  things  move  so  fast  ?  "  she  said  to  her 
mother. 

Besides  the  correlations  we  have  been  considering, 
there  are  further  correlations  of  the  data  afforded  by 
sight,  touch,  and  movements  of  eyes  and  limbs,  with 
the  data  afforded  by  the  sense  of  hearing,  the  sense 
of  smell,  our  temperature  senses,  and  that  sense  of 
direction  to  which  allusion  was  made  in  considering 
the  impressions  of  sense.  Smell  is  correlated  with 
taste ;  and  such  visual  effects   as  that  produced  by 


56  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

steaming  porridge  are  correlated  with  the  effects  of 
eating  it  too  hastily.  All  these  correlations  in  the 
special  fields  of  touch,  sight,  hearing,  smell,  both  in 
each  field  severally  and  of  the  fields  each  with  the 
other,  gradually  coalesce  and  become  organized  into 
what  we  may  term  the  general  field  of  experience. 

It  is  probably  difficult  for  us  to  realize  what  a 
chaotic  muddle  of  sensations  there  must  be  in  the  in- 
fant's mind  during  the  early  weeks  and  months  of  its 
life.  The  exact  steps  and  stages  of  the  correlation  in 
the  child-mind  we  shall  probably  never  know  with  any- 
thing like  certainty.  Few  of  us  remember  anything 
which  occurred  to  us  before  we  were  about  two  years 
old,  and  by  that  time  the  field  of  experience  is 
pretty  well  organized,  and  all  the  simpler  correlations 
have  been  established.  There  are  good  grounds  for 
believing  that  each  individual  has  to  establish  all  the 
correlations  for  himself.  They  are  not  inherited, 
but  must  be  acquired.  Co-ordinations  of  motor 
activity  are  inherited  ;  but  the  correlations  of  sensory 
data  are  probably,  I  repeat,  not  inherited,  but  have 
to  be  individually  acquired.  And  there  is  but  little 
that  we  can  do  in  the  way  of  direct  teaching  to 
aid  the  infant  and  child  in  the  acquisition  of  this 
elementary  but  most  important  experience.  All  that 
we  can  do  is  to  afford  to  him  the  best  and  most 
convenient  opportunities  and  conditions  for  the 
work  of  self-development. 

It  will  perhaps  have  been  noticed  that  I  have  con- 
stantly spoken  of  the  correlation  of  sensory  data,  and 
not  of  the  correlation  of  impressions  and  ideas.  I 
have  done  so  because  a  good  deal  of  the  correlation 
takes  place  in  the  margin  of  consciousness,  and  is  not 


EXPERIENCE  57 

by  any  means  confined  to  the  focal  region,  which  is 
the  special  seat  of  impressions  and  ideas.     Indeed,  it 
is   somewhat    remarkable   that   very    much     of   the 
correlation  is  established    subconsciously.     Probably 
only  a  very  small  proportion  of  the  correlation  which 
becomes  so  well  organized  in  the  growing  experience 
of  the  child  have  been    formed  intentionally.     The 
infant  does  not  apply  itself  to  the  task  of  correlating 
the  sensory  data  which  are  hour  by  hour  and  day  by 
day  accumulating.     The  organization  of  experience 
is  a  process  of  natural  growth,  like  that  of  the  plant, 
which  puts  forth    its  shoots,  leaves,  and  buds,  and 
develops  into  a  beautifully  symmetrical   tree  ;  or  like 
that  of  the  child's  own  body,  in  which  the  limbs  and 
all  the  organs  develop  in  due  relation    to  each  other. 
AVhile,  therefore,  it  is  probably  true  that,    as   was 
stated  in  the  last  paragraph,  the  correlations  of  sen- 
sory data  are  not  inherited,  but  have  to  be  individually 
acquired,  it  is  none  the  less  true  that  it  is  part  of  the 
inherent   and   inherited   tendencies    of   our   mental 
nature  to  form  such  correlations  if  the  necessary  data 
are  duly  supplied.     There  is  no  evidence  that  this, 
that,  or  the  other  correlation  is  inherited  ;  but  it  is 
unquestionably  true  that  the  faculty  for  correlation 
is  an    inalienable  mental    possession.     The    sensory 
data  of  experience  are  the  food  of  the  mind  ;  each 
individual  has  to  find  or  to  be  supplied  with  his  own 
food  ;  but  the  power  of  dealing  with  the  food,  so  as 
to  build  with  it  an  organized  and  correlated   body  of 
experience — that  is   part   of   our   dower   as   human 
beings. 

A  great  deal  of  this  organizing  and  correlation  is 
carried  on  subconsciously,  in  what  I  have  termed  the 


58       PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

margin  of  consciousness.  The  correlation,  indeed, 
affects  the  whole  field  of  consciousness,  and  is  in  no 
small  degree  a  matter  of  the  relation  of  focus  to 
margin,  and  of  marginal  elements  among  themselves. 
Many  simultaneous  effects  in  consciousness  of  changes 
in  the  visual  field,  movements  of  the  eyes,  and  move- 
ments of  the  hand,  are  duly  correlated  when  the  child 
reaches  forth  its  hand  to  seize  a  sweet. 

We  have  seen  that  the  co-ordination  of  motor 
activities  is  founded  on  innate  and  inherited  au- 
tomatism, but  that  it  is  brought  under  control  in 
accordance  with  the  data  afforded  by  association  and 
correlation,  and  is  guided  to  desired  ends  in  the  light 
of  past  experience.  The  guidance  and  control  are 
an  expression  of  the  individual  will.  Experience 
tells  us  that  certain  states  of  consciousness,  or  certain 
elements  in  consciousness,  are  pleasurable,  agreeable, 
or  in  harmony  with  our  mental  nature  ;  while  others 
are  painful,  disagreeable,  or  discordant  with  our 
mental  nature.  We  seek  the  repetition  of  the  former  ; 
we  shun  or  avoid  the  repetition  of  the  latter.  And 
this  seeking  or  shunning  is  .rendered  possible  through 
correlation,  which  has  brought  our  activities  into 
close  touch  with  our  sensory  experience.  Without 
such  correlation  the  exercise  of  the  will  would,  it  is 
evident,  be  inoperative.  As  it  is,  through  the  cor- 
relations which  have  been  established,  control  through 
the  application  of  the  will  can  be  exercised  over 
those  particular  activities  which  are  immediately 
concerned  in  reaching  or  avoiding  pleasant  or  dis- 
agreeable results.  But  here  again  we  must  notice 
that  the  activities  themselves  over  which  control  is 
exercised  do  not,  as  a  rule,  occupy  the  focus  of  con- 


EXPERIENCE  59 

sciousness  at  the  moment  of  control  ;  it  is  rather  the 
end  to  be  gained,  or  the  result  to  be  avoided,  to  which 
we  attend.  When  the  child  stretches  forth  his  hand 
to  seize  the  sweet,  it  is  the  sweet  itself  which  is  in 
the  focus  of  consciousness  ;  the  means  by  which  it  is 
to  be  obtained  is  of  merely  subconscious  value.  When 
the  child  whose  tongue  has  been  burned  with  porridge 
holds  in  check  the  action  of  putting  the  spoon  to  his 
mouth,  it  is  the  avoidance  of  scalding  his  lips  that  is 
focal  to  consciousness.  And  yet  in  both  these  cases 
the  control  is  really  exercised  over  the  motor  activities 
concerned.  This  does  but  enforce  that  which  has 
before  been  pointed  out,  namely,  that  we  must  deal 
with  states  of  consciousness  as  wholes,  and  not  merely 
pay  attention  to  their  focal  elements.  For  we  saw 
that,  unless  we  take  into  consideration  the  marginal 
elements  in  consciousness,  we  cannot  say  why  one 
rather  than  another  of  several  divergent  associations 
is  suggested  by  such  a  word  as  "  box  "when  it  occurs 
in  a  sentence. 

It  is,  however,  undoubtedly  a  fact  that  many  things 
which  in  the  first  instance  require  the  application  of 
our  focal  attention,  come  witli  practice  to  be  per- 
formed subconsciously.  Take,  for  example,  the  case 
of  singing.  The  child  has  at  first  to  attend  carefully 
to  the  way  in  which  a  certain  note  has  to  be  produced 
by  the  voice,  and  to  the  changes  which  are  necessary 
in  order  to  sing  the  intervals  in  a  simple  tune.  But 
after  a  while  the  tune  can  be  hummed  while  the 
mind  is  occupied  with  quite  different  mutters.  And 
yet  even  here  it  is  the  effect  of  the  motor  activitii 
on  whieli  the  attention  is  fixed  rather  than  on  the 
motor  activities  themselves.     The  child  hardly  knows, 


60       PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

if  he  knows  at  all,  that  it  is  on  the  movements  of  the 
larynx  that  his  efforts  to  control  the  voice  are  ex- 
ercised. Or,  take  the  case  of  a  boy  learning  to  ride 
a  bicycle.  It  requires,  in  the  early  stages  of  the  pro- 
cess, all  his  attention  to  guide  the  machine  and  pre- 
vent a  fall  ;  after  a  while,  however,  he  can  spin 
along,  talking  to  or  listening  to  his  companion,  and 
paying  no  special  attention  to  the  machine,  which  he 
is  all  the  while  guiding  skilfully.  But  here  again  it 
is  rather  the  effects  of  the  movements  of  his  hands 
and  arms  than  the  movements  themselves,  on  which 
his  attention  is  fixed  while  he  is  acquiring  the  necessary 
skill. 

The  lad  talking  to  his  companion  as  he  spins  along 
on  his  bicycle,  affords  indeed  a  good  example  of  cor- 
relation. The  conversation  involves  the  correlation 
of  the  field  of  hearing,  within  which  both  his  own 
and  his  companion's  words  fall,  with  that  field  of  motor 
effort  which  we  may  term  the  field  of  speech.  At 
the  same  time,  the  field  of  vision  and  certain  data 
afforded  thereby,  such  as  occasional  stones  on  the 
road,  are  correlated  with  the  field  of  muscular  effort 
involved  in  riding  the  machine  ;  and  within  this 
latter  field  there  is  a  constant  correlation  between 
the  incoming  sensory  data  from  legs  and  arms  whose 
diverse  work  must  co-operate  to  attain  a  common 
end.  All  this  correlation  is  effected  simultaneously, 
and  yet  in  the  midst  of  it  all  the  boy  is  not  insensible 
to  the  view,  has  a  dim  sense  of  a  healthy  and  grow- 
ing appetite,  and  perhaps  has  a  lurking  notion,  some- 
where at  the  back  of  his  mind,  that  instead  of  en- 
joying this  ride  he  ought  to  be  working  at  his 
verse-task.     If  all  this  is  not,  strictly  speaking,  simul- 


EXPERIENCE  61 

taneously  present  to  consciousness — and  much  of  it 
does  undoubtedly  co-exist  at  the  same  moment — it  is 
none  the  less  rolling  through  the  mind  with  a  com- 
plexity which  is  rendered  orderly  only  through  cor- 
relation. 

In  the  common  phraseology  of  ordinary  conversa- 
tion, we  should  perhaps  speak  of  the  guiding  of  the 
machine  under  such  circumstances  as  performed 
automatically.  It  is  clear,  however,  that  such  autom- 
atism is  not  quite  the  same  as  that  to  which  allu- 
sion has  already  been  made.  The  automatism  we 
then  spoke  of  was  an  innate  and  inherited  co-ordi- 
nation of  motor  responses,  like  that  which  enables  a 
baby  to  perform  the  very  complex  operation  of  sneez- 
ing. It  is  quite  certain  that  we  do  not  inherit  an 
automatic  co-ordination  of  the  motor  activities  in- 
volved in  riding  a  bicycle.  When  we  speak  of  the 
exercise  of  skill  in  this  matter,  or  in  any  such  cases, 
as  automatic,  we  mean  that  the  constant  guidance 
and  control  which  was  requisite  at  first  is  no  longer 
necessary.  Practice  has  made  perfect,  and  the  man- 
agement of  the  machine  is  so  much  a  matter  of  habit 
that  it  can  be  performed,  if  not  unconsciously,  at 
any  rate  quite  subconsciously.  This  automatism, 
which  is  the  result  of  practice  and  habitual  perform- 
ance, is  called  secondary  automatism.  It  is  obviously 
a  great  advantage  for  the  conduct  of  our  life's  ac- 
tivities that  we  should  thus  be  able  to  establish  co- 
ordinations which  are  secondarily  automatic,  the 
due  performance  of  which  may  be  left  with  perfect 
confidence  to  the  margin  of  our  consciousness  while 
our  focal  attention  is  otherwise  occupied. 

We  must  not  fail  to  remember,  however,  that  com- 


62       PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

plex  correlations,  which  are  to  us  so  natural  that  we 
never  trouble  our  heads  about  them,  are  for  the 
little  child  matters  the  difficulties  of  which  have  not 
yet  been  overcome  ;  and  that  complex  co-ordinations 
which  have,  for  us,  passed  so  completely  into  the 
secondarily  automatic  class  that  they  may  be  left  for 
subconsciousness  to  afford  the  little  guidance  that  is 
necessary,  still  require  for  the  child  the  practice 
which  will  eventually  render  perfect.  Hence,  it  is  of 
some  importance  that  the  teacher  of  young  chil- 
dren should  understand  the  conditions  of  mental 
development,  in  order  that  she  may  so  far  enter  into 
the  nature  of  the  child-mind  as  to  appreciate  and  make 
due  allowances  for  difficulties  due  to  its  immaturity. 
6i  Put  yourself  in  his  place,"  is  a  good  motto,  but  it 
is  not  easy  of  application  in  the  education  of  little 
children. 

Now,  a  great  deal  of  early  education  is  concerned 
with  the  imparting  of  skill.  And  I  think  it  is  no 
exaggeration  to  say  that,  so  far  as  this  is  concerned, 
an  ounce  of  demonstration  is  worth  many  pounds  of 
description.  We  build  here  upon  the  natural  faculty 
of  imitation.  We  must  show  the  child  how  a  skilled 
action  is  to  be  performed,  and  get  him  to  imitate  what 
we  do.  Fortunately,  children  are  for  the  most  part 
very  observant  and  very  ready  to  imitate.  It  is  sur- 
prising what  rapid  progress  they  often  make  in  the 
acquisition  of  skill. 

And  I  think  it  is  difficult  to  exaggerate  the  im- 
portance of  a  varied  training  in  skill.  It  is  indeed, 
in  my  opinion,  of  primary  importance  in  the  early 
stages  of  education  and  for  some  time  onwards. 
Nor  should  it  at  any  time  during  the  preparatory 


EXPERIENCE  63 

years  of  life  be  neglected.  Involving  as  it  does  the 
constant  correlation  of  the  data  of  sense,  and  the  nice 
co-ordination  of  motor  activities  ;  essentially  jn-ac- 
tical  and  in  close  touch  with  real  things  ;  fostering 
habits  alike  of  close  observation  and  of  accuracy  of 
performance  ;  based  upon  an  elementary  exercise  of 
the  will  in  the  guidance  of  action  ;  necessitating  the 
steady  application  of  means  to  a  definite  end  in  view  ; 
lending  itself  admirably  to  an  elementary  apprecia- 
tion of  beauty,  and  fostering  a  desire  for  its  attain- 
ment ; — on  all  these  grounds  the  kindergarten  should 
form  a  prominent  feature  in  our  educational  system. 
For  the  training  of  the  finger  muscles,  Slojd,  draw- 
ing, and  the  playing  of  a  musical  instrument — best 
of  all,  if  there  is  a  good  ear  for  music,  the  violin — 
are  admirable.  The  wider  and  more  varied  the  train- 
ing the  better  ;  for  our  object  is  to  give  to  the  fingers 
a  skill  which  may  eventually  be  applied  to  anything, 
from  tying  a  knot  or  a  white  tie  or  sewing  on  a  but- 
ton, to  the  most  delicate  touches  of  art  on  the  one 
hand  to  the  equally  delicate  touches  of  scientific 
manipulation  on  the  other.  Whenever  I  find  a  student 
who  displays  unusual  delicacy  of  dissection  in  com- 
parative anatomy,  I  inquire  how  he  or  she  has  trained 
the  finger  muscles  so  as  to  have  them  so  well  under 
control.  Often  I  receive  for  answer,  that  they  have 
not  been  specially  trained  in  any  way.  But,  on 
further  inquiry,  I  nearly  always  get  such  answers  as, 
"Oh  yes,  Fm  fond  of  drawing — just  sketching 
things  that  strike  me,  without  any  knowledge  of  the 
subject"  ;  or,  "Well,  Fve  always  been  rather  given 
to  carving  boats,  and  the  knobs  of  sticks,  and  odd 
things,  but  I  never   learned   to  do   so."     No  doubt 


64       PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

such  answers  indicate  a  natural  gift  which  has  found 
expression  in  these  ways ;  no  doubt  there  may  be 
some  whose  fingers  are  by  nature  "  all  thumbs"  ;  but 
I  believe,  if  these  ' '  thumbs  "  are  only  trained  at  a 
sufficiently  early  and  plastic  stage  of  development, 
they  will,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  turn  out  to  be 
very  respectable  fingers. 

Nor  must  we  despise  the  value  of  this  delicacy  of 
skill  in  its  application  to  much  that  is  highest  in 
human  endeavor.  In  many  departments  both  of  art 
and  science,  skill  is  essential  as  the  medium  of  ex- 
pression of  that  which  takes  form  in  the  mind  of  the 
artist  or  man  of  science.  In  painting,  technique  may 
be  inferior  in  worth  to  inspiration  ;  but  of  what  value 
to  mankind  is  the  inspiration  of  the  painter  if  his 
skill  in  technique  is  inadequate  to  embody  his  ideal  ? 
What  do  we  not  owe  to  the  marvellous  interpretative 
skill  of  such  a  pianist  as  Paderewski  ?  How  much 
of  the  value  of  anatomy  and  surgery  to  man  would 
remain  if  we  failed  to  include  the  marvellous  skill  in 
their  application  which  characterizes  a  great  opera- 
tor ?  Of  physical  science  it  is  scarcely  too  much  to 
say  that  it  owes  its  present  position  to  the  application 
of  skill,  to  the  making  of  delicate  apparatus,  and  the 
execution  of  experiments  of  extreme  nicety.  Skill 
in  the  manufacture  and  skill  in  the  use  of  the  mi- 
croscope have  done  much  to  make  biology  what  it 
now  is.  In  a  word,  skill  is  the  faithful  and  un- 
wearied handmaiden  which  ministers  both  to  science 
and  to  art. 

For  the  training  of  the  larger,  coarser  body  mus- 
cles, Swedish  drill,  the  gymnasium,  dancing,  and 
games  are  of  the  utmost  value.     What  our  national 


EXPERIENCE  65 

games  have  done  for  the  English  race  it  is  difficult 
to  overestimate.  They  train  us  to  use  our  bodies  in 
the:  most  efficient  manner,  and  to  expend  our  energies 
to  the  best  advantage.  It  is  impossible  to  watch  the 
organized  games,  musical  drill,  and  other  exercises  of 
the  kindergarten,  without  being  impressed  with  the 
value  of  the  training  in  what  may  be  termed  social 
co-ordination.  An  old  soldier  standing  by  my  side 
on  such  an  occasion  said  to  me,  "  That's  the  training 
for  our  future  soldiers  and  sailors."  A  good  foot- 
ball team,  a  good  eleven,  a  good  eight,  work  together 
for  a  common  aim,  and  learn  to  combine  their  skill 
with  due  co-ordination  and  due  subordination.  The 
playing-fields  are  the  finest  school  of  organized  co- 
operation in  the  world. 

In  all  these  matters  of  skill  what  is  learnt  is  es- 
sentially real  and  practical.  They  depend  on  direct 
experience  ;  second-hand  information  is  of  little  or 
no  value.  We  have  here  a  form  of  education  which 
is  in  close  touch  with  the  realities  of  that  with  which 
it  deals.  I  have  heard  intellectual  people  speak  of  it 
as  "  mere  physical  training."  But  I  am  anxious  that 
it  should  be  quite  clearly  understood  that  this  "  mere 
physical  training"  involves  a  training  in  mental 
qualities  which  are,  whatever  may  be  the  position 
assigned  to  them  in  the  mental  hierarchy,  of  an  emi- 
nently serviceable  character.  Quickness  and  sure- 
ness  of  eye,  swiftness  and  accuracy  of  response,  are 
qualities  which  are  mental  as  well  as  physical,  and 
which  enable  a  man  to  deal  successfully  with  many 
of  the  practical  difficulties  of  life  ;  while  the  habit  of 
working  with  his  companions  for  a  common  object, 
and  contending  with  others  in  friendly  contest,  gives 
5 


66       PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

him  a  practical  knowledge  of  character  and  a  power 
of  dealing  with  his  fellow-men  which  are  invalu- 
able. 

Let  me  now  say  a  few  words  in  brief  summary  of 
what  we  have  so  far  learnt.  We  have  grasped,  I  trust, 
that  a  state  of  consciousness,  regarded  as  a  whole,  is 
by  no  means  simple,  but  is  made  up  of  a  number  of 
psychical  elements  which  co-exist  together  and  are 
of  various  degrees  of  intensity.  These  elements  are 
either  presentative,  that  is  to  say,  directly  due  to 
stimuli  from  without  or  from  parts  of  our  bodies,  or 
re-presentative,  that  is  to  say,  reproductions  of  the 
presentative  elements.  The  most  prominent  or  focal 
of  these  elements  are  what  we  termed  impressions 
when  they  are  presentative,  and  ideas  when  they  are 
re-presentative.  Ideas  are  suggested  to  the  mind  in 
virtue  of  association  by  contiguity,  or  through  re- 
semblance and  similarity.  But  in  any  case  the  im- 
pression, or  the  idea,  which  is  in  the  focus  of  conscious- 
ness, does  not  stand  alone.  It  is  set  in  a  background 
of  marginal  elements  of  both  the  presentative  and 
the  re-presentative  order.  Only  by  neglecting  this 
background,  for  the  purposes  of  our  study,  can  we 
consider  impressions  or  ideas  by  themselves.  For  the 
purposes  of  our  study,  that  is  to  say,  we  isolate  the 
impressions  and  ideas,  and  distinguish  them  from 
their  natural  margin.  But  in  practical  experience 
the  margin  is  always  exercising  a  subtle  but  none 
the  less  important  influence  on  the  focus.  Hence 
the  actual  sequence  of  our  ideas  is  in  part  due  to 
suggestion  through  association  or  similarity,  and  in 
part  due  to  the  influence  of  the  margin.     In  other 


EXPERIENCE  67 

words,  the  idea  which  is  focal  in  any  state  of  con- 
sciousness is  a  product  of  the  preceding  state  of  con- 
sciousness as  a  whole,  focus  and  margin  contributing 
to  the  effect. 

As  a  great  number  of  sensory  data  are  constantly 
pouring  in  upon  the  mind,  partly  from  the  special 
senses,  partly  from  the  organs  of  our  bodies  which 
are  concerned  in  motor  activity,  it  is  necessary  that 
they  should  be  brought  into  relation  to  each  other 
and  duly  marshalled  and  organized.  This  is  the 
work  of  practical  experience,  and  is  termed  correla- 
tion. It  affects  the  whole  field  of  consciousness,  and 
is  largely  a  matter  which  concerns  the  marginal  re- 
gion. It  is,  however,  also,  in  an  important  degree, 
a  bringing  of  the  focus  and  the  margin  into  due 
relation  to  each  other,  so  that  this  subconscious  mar- 
gin becomes  subordinate  and  ministrant  to  the  more 
imperious  affairs  of  the  focus. 

If,  instead  of  considering  the  development  from 
the  point  of  view  of  experience  and  the  correlation 
of  sensory  data,  we  regard  it  from  the  standpoint  of 
the  organization  and  perfecting  of  the  bodily  activi- 
ties, we  speak  of  co-ordination.  We  come  into  the 
world  with  bodies  the  organs  of  which  are  already 
automatically  performing  co-ordinated  activities  (as 
in  the  case  of  the  heart  and  breathing  apparatus),  or 
are  ready  to  perform  them  automatically  on  the  ap- 
plication of  the  appropriate  stimulus  (sneezing,  suck- 
ing). It  is  part  of  the  business  of  development  to 
bring  the  activities  under  fuller  and  fuller  guidance 
and  control,  thus  organizing  in  the  light  of  expe- 
rience the  raw  materials  of  co-ordination  which  wo 
inherit.     But  when  the  guidance  is  constantly  and 


68       PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

steadily  exeroised  in  certain  directions,  habits  of 
action  are  established  ;  fully  conscious  guidance  may 
then  be  withdrawn,  and  the  activities  left  to  subcon- 
scious guidance  in  the  margin  of  consciousness.  The 
activities  become  secondarily  automatic. 

A  very  important  part  of  our  education  is,  as  we 
have  seen,  concerned  with  the  correlation  of  sensory 
data  and  the  co-ordination  of  motor  activities.  We 
may  call  this  education  in  the  matter  of  practical 
experience. 


CHAPTER  IV 

PERCEPTION 

The  process  of  correlation  considered  in  the  last 
chapter  involves  the  bringing  into  relation,  for  the 
practical  purposes  of  daily  life,  of  the  diverse  data 
afforded  by  the  several  special  senses,  together  with 
those  afforded  by  the  organs  which  are  concerned  in 
bodily  movement  and  activity.  Now  this  process, 
though  it  is  certainly  accompanied  by  consciousness, 
is  not  a  voluntary  one.  It  is  not  one  performed  with 
the  end  and  object  of  correlation  consciously  in  view. 
The  relations,  as  such,  do  not  come  into  focus  at  all, 
"We  utilize  the  correlations,  but  we  do  not  attend  to 
them.  The  correlations  themselves  would  seem  in- 
deed so  be  throughout  subconscious,  our  attention 
being  fixed  on  their  effects  or  their  net  results.  In 
illustration  of  this,  I  would  again  adduce  the  case  of 
the  control  of  the  voice  in  singing.  For  the  attain- 
ment of  this  end,  certain  auditory  data  have  to  be 
correlated  with  the  data  afforded  by  the  larynx  and 
the  parts  of  the  mouth.  And  yet  few  of  us  are  aware 
while  some  might  even  deny,  that  such  correlations 
are  necessary.  So  too,  in  pronouncing  our  commonest 
words.     Probably  not  many  of  my  readers  could  state, 

without  first  making  special  observations  directed  to 

69 


70  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

that  end,  the  co-ordinations  which  are  necessary  for 
the  pronunciation  of  the  words  "  fall  out."  Try  to 
do  so  yourself.  This  will  lead  you  to  pay  attention 
to  them,  to  note  the  movements  of  the  mouth  organs, 
the  modifications  of  respirations.  All  of  these  have 
to  be  nicely  adjusted  through  the  correlation  of  the 
sensory  data  from  the  various  organs  concerned. 
When  we  are  learning  to  speak  or  to  sing,  we  proceed 
on  the  method  of  imitation,  of  trial  and  error.  A 
particular  sound  has  to  be  produced.  We  try,  and 
fail  ;  try  again,  and  are  less  unsuccessful  ;  try  yet 
again,  and  at  length  succeed.  The  nature  of  the 
correlations  involved  in  attaining  this  success  does 
not  enter  the  field  of  focal  and  distinct  consciousness. 
We  are  concerned  with  the  effects  produced,  not 
with  the  means  of  producing  them. 

To  do  a  thing,  and  to  know  how  you  do  it,  are  two 
very  different  things.  Ask  a  boy  how  he  manages 
that  clever  back-stroke  at  lawn-tennis.  He  cannot 
tell  you  ;  he  does  not  know.  He  has  no  idea  how  he 
learned  to  do  it.  He  supposes  it  is  practice.  But  he 
will  show  you  how  he  does  it  with  much  pride  and 
pleasure.  The  feat  of  skill  requires  a  wonderfully 
nice  and  accurate  co-ordination  of  activities,  involv- 
ing I  know  not  how  many  muscles  in  various  parts 
of  the  body  :  the  sensations  which  accompany  this 
co-ordination  are  correlated,  and  afford  the  data  re- 
quisite for  the  maintenance  of  control  over  the  activ- 
ities in  question.  But  what  the  co-ordinations  are, 
the  boy  does  not  know,  and  probably  does  not  care. 
They  have  been  established  subconsciously  and  are 
utilized  subconsciously  ;  and  knowledge  is  a  matter 
not  of  subconscious  effects,  but  of  that  which  is  focal 


PERCEPTION  71 

and  definite  to  consciousness.  It  may  perhaps  be 
said  that  the  correlations  requisite  for  the  perform- 
ance of  a  feat  of  skill  are  not  subconscious,  but  are 
unconscious ;  that  the  whole  matter  is  one  of  mere 
bodily  mechanism,  and  not  psychological  at  all.  Two 
replies  may  be  given  to  such  an  assertion  :  a  general 
reply  and  a  special  reply.  The  general  reply  is,  that 
in  so  far  as  the  skilled  activity  is  a  feat  performed 
under  guidance  and  control,  the  requisite  data  for 
such  guidance  must  have  been  present  to  conscious- 
ness. It  can  hardly  be  maintained  that  the  boy  who 
makes  the  clever  backhand  stroke  at  lawn-tennis  is  a 
mere  automaton  ;  his  feat  is  the  result  of  experience 
gained  by  frequent  practice  ;  and  unconscious  expe- 
rience is  a  contradiction  in  terms.  The  special  reply 
is  that,  if  you  attend  to  the  matter,  you  will  be 
able  to  a  large  extent  to  make  the  subconscious  cor- 
relations focal  to  consciousness.  Then  you  will  be 
able  not  only  to  perform  the  feat  of  skill,  but  to 
know,  and  to  some  extent  to  describe,  how  you  do 
it. 

When,  in  this  way,  we  pay  special  attention  to  the 
details  of  the  way  which  our  minds  act,  we  are  ex- 
ercising introspection.  Introspection  is  looking 
within  at  the  workings  of  our  own  consciousness.  It 
is  absolutely  necessary  in  psychology.  I  would  beg 
my  readers  to  exercise  themselves  in  the  art  of  in- 
trospection, and  to  observe  narrowly  the  sensory  data 
that  accompany  the  performance  of  skilled  activities. 
It  may  not  be  easy  at  first.  Not  improbably  it  is  a 
new  field  of  observation  ami  investigation.  But  it  is 
an  interesting  field,  and  for  the  teacher  one  that  is 
worthy  of  thorough  and  careful  survey.     And  for- 


72       PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

tunately  it  is  one  that  is  always  close  at  hand.  The 
student  of  other  branches  of  scientific  investigation 
has  to  seek  and  collect  the  materials  for  his  study. 
The  psychologist  carries  with  him  his  material  wher- 
ever he  goes. 

Such  introspection  soon  makes  us  acquainted  with 
the  distinction  between  the  subjective  and  the  object- 
ive aspect  of  experience.  The  distinction  is  rather  a 
difficult  one  to  grasp  quite  clearly  and  distinctly  ;  but 
it  is  worth  while  to  take  some  trouble  to  make  one- 
self familiar  with  these  two  ways  of  dealing  with  states 
of  consciousness.  And  here  let  me  say  that  in  no 
study  is  it  more  essential  to  check  by  a  direct  appeal 
to  your  own  experience  all  the  statements  which  you 
are  asked  to  accept,  than  it  is  in  psychology.  You 
have  always  your  own  experience  at  hand  for  purposes 
of  thus  checking  what  is  asserted.  But  remember 
that,  if  you  are  unable  to  indorse  the  statement,  this 
may  be  due,  either  to  the  fact  that  the  statement  is 
erroneous,  or  to  the  fact  that  you  are  still  inexpe- 
rienced in  introspection.  In  either  case  put  some 
mark  opposite  the  statement,  and  endeavor  again 
and  again  to  check  it  by  an  appeal  to  your  own  ex- 
perience. Do  not  accept  it  unless  self-observation 
convinces  you  of  its  truth ;  but  do  not  reject  it 
until  you  are  quite  sure  that  your  own  experience 
not  only  does  not  support  it,  but  actually  contra- 
dicts it. 

Let  us  now  try  and  get  at  the  meaning  of  these 
terms,  objective  and  subjective.  Looking  up  from  my 
page,  I  see,  against  the  blue  background  of  the  sum- 
mer sky,  the  swifts  wheeling  in  their  flight.  That  is 
a  bit  of  practical  experience.     In  its  objective  aspect 


PERCEPTION  73 

there  are  the  birds  at  a  certain  distance  from  me, 
moving  across  the  sky.  No  doubt  it  is  I  who  am 
observing  them  ;  but  I  take  that  fact  for  granted. 
And  it  is  with  this  objective  aspect  that  we  are  usu- 
ally concerned  in  the  ordinary  course  of  our  daily 
life.  But  now  let  us  turn  to  the  other  or  subjective 
aspect.  I,  the  observer,  am  experiencing  certain 
sensations,  which  somehow  combine  together  to  give 
rise  to  what  I  describe  as  a  swift  in  motion  out  there 
in  the  sky.  If  I  consider  the  bird  in  its  flight,  I  am 
considering  the  objective  aspect  ;  if  I  consider  my 
own  impressions  and  states  of  consciousness,  I  am  con. 
sidering  the  subjective  aspect.  It  requires  no  intro- 
spection to  see  the  swifts  wheeling  in  the  summer 
sky,  but  I  have  to  look  within  to  get  at  the  subjective 
aspect  of  the  experience. 

Note  that  what  we  have  done  here  is  to  analyze  the 
bit  of  practical  experience.  The  subjective  and  the 
objective  are  the  different  aspects  of  the  same  piece 
of  experience  ;  and  it  is  only  in  analysis  that  we  dis- 
tinguish the  one  from  the  other.  The  little  child 
and  the  farmer's  lad  do  not  trouble  themselves  about 
the  analysis,  and  probably  know  nothing  of  object 
and  subject.  And  yet  the  words  they  use  when  they 
say,  "  I  see  a  swift,"  imply  the  analysis  into  the  sub- 
ject "I "and  the  object  " swift."  But  they  also 
imply  that  both  are  co-operating  at  the  moment  of 
experience.  If  the  swift  were  not  there,  I  should  not 
see  it ;  nor  should  I  see  it  if  I  were  not  there.  The 
swift  and  I,  object  and  subject,  must  conspire  to  give 
rise  to  the  bit  of  experience.  What  we  habitually  do 
is  to  pay  attention  to  the  objective  aspect  and  take 
the  subjective  aspect  for  granted.     It  is  the  aim  of 


74       PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

psychology,  however,  to  direct  special  attention  to 
the  subjective  aspect  and  to  learn  all  that  we  can 
about  it. 

Two  remarks  may  here  be  made  before  we  pass  on. 
First,  Distinguish  carefully  between  the  subject  as 
used  in  psychology,  and  the  subject  as  used  in  parsing 
and  the  analysis  of  sentences.  The  subject  in  psy- 
chology is  that  ivhich  experiences  :  the  object  is  that 
which  is  experienced.  Secondly,  Extend  your  idea  of 
the  object  from  the  swift,  which  has  been  taken  as  a 
particular  example,  to  anything  which  may  be  ex- 
perienced. The  swift  is  an  object  of  sight,  my  pen 
an  object  of  touch,  the  movement  of  my  fingers  an 
object  of  motor  sensation,  and  a  vast  number  of 
things  objects  of  sense-experience.  But  a  difficult 
problem  may  be  an  object  of  thought,  virtue  an  object 
of  desire,  my  father  an  object  of  reverence  ;  and  in 
like  manner  we  may  have  objects  of  all  the  modes 
and  varieties  of  human  experience.  Hitherto  we  have 
chiefly  dealt  with  sense-experience  ;  but  we  shall  have 
to  learn  that  experience  includes  far  more  than  the 
domain  of  sense. 

We  will  now  proceed  to  consider  certain  objects  of 
perception.  First,  we  must  inquire  what  is  percep- 
tion. What  do  we  mean  by  perceiving  ?  What  is 
it  that  we  perceive  ?  The  word  "perceive  "  is  often 
used  in  ordinary  conversation  in  several  somewhat 
different  senses.  In  psychology  it  is  employed  as  a 
technical  term — that  is  to  say,  as  a  term  that  is  used 
with  a  special  meaning.  But,  unfortunately,  all  psy- 
chologists do  not  employ  it  in  quite  the  same  sense. 
I  shall  use  it  for  that  mode  of  experience  by  which 
we  become  acquainted  with  relations.     We  perceive 


PERCEPTION  75 

relations;  or,  otherwise  put,  relations  are  the  objects 
of  perception. 

What,  then,  are  relations  ?  I  see  yonder  swift  in 
the  sky  ;  and  I  perceive  its  distance  from  the  ground. 
I  see,  too,  a  martin  ;  and  perceive  that  it  is  a  smaller 
bird  than  the  swift.  In  these  sentences  it  should  be 
noted  that  I  am  using  the  word  "  to  see  n  in  a  general 
and  not  in  a  technical  sense  ;  and  in  this  sense  it  is 
not  necessarily  antithetical  to  perception.  What  per- 
ception does,  indeed,  is  to  single  out  a  particular 
element  in  the  act  of  seeing.  We  may  see  the  bird 
set  in  a  background  of  many  relations ;  perception 
singles  out  one  of  these  and  focusses  it  definitely. 
Again,  I  taste  a  couple  of  strawberries  ;  and  I  per- 
ceive that  the  one  is  sweeter  than  the  other.  I  hear 
two  notes  struck  on  the  piano  ;  and  I  perceive  that 
the  interval  between  them  is  a  major  third,  I  see  a 
butterfly  ;  and  perceive  that  it  has  lost  a  portion  of 
one  wing.  Observe  that  in  all  these  cases  we  have 
two  impressions,  or  an  impression  and  an  idea  ;  and 
what  is  perceived  is  the  relation  of  one  to  the  other  : 
of  the  swift  to  the  martin  ;  of  the  one  strawberry  to 
the  other  ;  of  the  one  note  to  that  which  preceded  it ; 
of  the  maimed  butterfly  to  the  generic  idea  of  the 
perfect  insect.  Observe,  too,  that  what  we  focus  our 
attention  on  in  the  act  of  perception  is  not  the  related 
impressions,  but  the  relation  which  they  bear  to  each 
other.  We  focus  our  attention  first  on  the  swift,  next 
on  the  martin,  and  then  on  the  size-relation  of  the 
one  to  the  other  :  first  on  the  one  note,  next  on  the 
other  note,  and  then  on  their  relation  in  the  musical 
scale. 

In  speaking  of  the  relative  sizes  of  two  birds,  the 


76       PSYCHOLOGY  FOE  TEACHERS 

relative  sweetness  of  two  strawberries,  and  the  rela- 
tive pitch  of  two  notes,  I  have  been  drawing  your 
attention  to  the  objective  aspect  of  the  act  of  per- 
ceiving. The  relative  size,  the  relative  sweetness, 
the  relative  pitch,  are  the  objects  of  perception. 
And  what  about  the  subjective  aspect  ?  What  do 
we  learn  about  the  matter  by  introspection  ?  Let 
us  take  the  case  of  perceiving  the  interval  between 
two  musical  notes.  When  we  hear  the  first  note  we 
experience  an  auditory  impression ;  when  we  hear 
the  second  note  we  experience  another  auditory  im- 
pression ;  but  what  do  we  actually  experience  when 
we  perceive  the  relation  of  pitch  between  the  two 
notes  ?  We  experience  a  transition  of  consciousness 
from  one  to  the  other.  This  transition  in  con- 
sciousness is  the  subjective  aspect  of  that  which  in  its 
objective  aspect  we  call  a  relation.  Two  pieces  of 
metal  lie  before  us  :  we  wish  to  perceive  their  relative 
weights.  We  poise  first  one  of  them  in  the  hand 
and  experience  a  particular  impression ;  next,  the 
other  of  them  in  the  same  way  and  experience  another 
impression  :  we  then  say  that  the  second  is  objectively 
heavier,  and  introspection  tells  us  that  the  transition 
in  consciousness  was  from  a  lesser  impression  to  a 
greater.  But  so  habitually  do  we  attend  to  the 
objective  aspect  of  our  experience,  that  few  people 
know  anything  about  the  subjective  aspect. 

To  become  acquainted  with  the  subjective  aspect  of 
the  act  of  perception  requires  introspection,  or  look- 
ing within  at  the  workings  of  our  own  consciousness. 
But  both  in  the  objective  and  in  the  subjective  aspect, 
retrospection,  or  looking  back  on  our  experience,  is 
required.  To  perceive  the  interval  between  two  notes, 


PERCEPTION  77 

we  must  hear  first  the  one,  next  the  other,  and  then 
perceive  what  the  interval  between  them  was.  We 
must  look  back  upon  our  experience.  Such  looking 
back  is  a  very  simple  case  of  reflection.  And  without 
this  very  elementary  and  simple  exercise  of  reflection, 
the  perception  of  relations  is  impossible.  So,  too, 
subjectively.  If  in  its  subjective  aspect  the  relation 
is  experienced  as  a  transition  in  consciousness,  it  is 
quite  clear  that  the  transition  must  be  completed 
before  it  can  be  an  object  of  introspection.  Con- 
sciousness has,  so  to  speak,  made  a  little  journey  from 
one  impression  to  another  ;  and  it  is  only  on  reach- 
ing our  destination  that  we  can  say  anything  about 
the  journey  as  a  whole.  Then  we  can  look  back 
upon  it  and  make  it  an  object  of  reflection. 

I  have  spoken  of  the  transition  in  consciousness  as 
the  subjective  aspect  of  the  relation  ;  and  yet,  just 
now,  I  said  that  the  transition  must  be  completed 
before  it  can  be  an  object  of  introspection.  Is  there 
not  some  confusion  here  ?  First,  I  call  the  transition 
the  subjective  aspect  of  the  relation,  and  then  I  speak 
of  it  as  an  object  of  introspection.  It  is  puzzling,  no 
doubt  ;  but  the  puzzle  is  inevitable.  The  only  way 
to  remove  the  difficulty  is  clearly  to  understand  its 
nature.  Everything  that  we  know  must,  in  becom- 
ing known  to  us,  be  an  object  of  knowledge.  If, 
then,  we  are  to  know  anything  concerning  the  sub- 
jective aspect  of  our  conscious  experience,  it  must  be 
made  an  object  of  knowledge.  The  subjective  aspect 
of  one  moment's  experience  must  be  made  the  object 
of  a  succeeding  moment's  introspective  experience. 
Introspection  always  deals  with  past  experience.  It 
may  be  the  experience  of  only  a  moment  ago  ;  but 


78       PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

still  it  is  the  experience  not  of  the  "now,"  but  of  the 
"just  now."  One  may  illustrate  this  by  a  rough 
analogy.  We  can  never  see  what  is  behind  us  ;  no 
matter  how  quickly  we  turn  round,  we  only  see  what 
was  behind  us  a  moment  ago,  before  we  turned.  So 
we  can  never  know — that  is  to  say,  we  can  never 
make  the  object  of  knowledge — what  is  the  subjective 
aspect  of  our  experience  ;  we  can  only  know,  through 
reflection,  what  was  the  subjective  aspect  before  we 
reflectively  turned  round  to  examine  it.  Intro- 
spection is  thus  always  retrospection  ;  or,  in  other 
words,  introspection  is  always  reflective. 

Eemember  that  in  the  ordinary  course  of  our  daily 
experience  we  do  not  trouble  about  analyzing  it  into 
an  objective  aspect  and  a  subjective  aspect.  From 
morning  to  night  we  may  have  a  series  of  states  of 
consciousness  in  accordance  with  which  our  actions 
are  guided  ;  and  we  may  never  think  of  analyzing 
any  one  item  of  the  experience.  The  little  child  not 
only  does  not,  but  probably  could  not,  analyze.  We 
have  spoken  of  this  simple,  naive,  unanalyzed  phase 
of  conscious  existence  as  sense-experience.  It  has  also 
been  termed  consentience.  In  such  sense-experience 
there  is  neither  subject  nor  object  ;  these  two  aspects 
of  the  experience  are  not  yet  distinguished  in  analysis. 
There  need  not  be,  and  probably  in  the  case  of  the 
little  child  there  is  not,  any  perception,  in  the  sense 
in  which  we  are  using  this  word.  The  relations  as 
such  may  never  be  focussed  by  the  child  through  an 
act  of  perception.  For  it  is  quite  sufficient  for  prac- 
tical purposes  in  the  life  of  sense-experience  that  the 
relations  (not  yet  definitely  perceived  as  such,  or 
rendered  focal  to  consciousness)  should  be  subcon- 


PERCEPTION  79 

sciously  sensed.  We  are  subconsciously  aware  of,  or 
sense  (if  we  may,  as  before  suggested,  use  this  won  I 
as  a  verb),  the  movements  of  our  eyes  and  our  limbs, 
and  are  practically  guided  by  the  sensations  in  our 
actions,  without  turning  the  focus  of  consciousness 
upon  them.  We  experience  our  states  of  conscious- 
ness as  wholes  long  before  we  analyze  them  and  per- 
ceive the  relations  of  their  constituent  elements  or 
factors  to  each  other.  Sense-experience  thus  supplies 
us  with  a  large  body  of  raw  material  upon  which  to 
exercise  the  higher  faculties  of  the  mind. 

We  will  now  follow  up  the  subject  of  perception 
a  little  farther.  What  we  perceive,  in  the  first  in- 
stance, is  the  relation  between  impressions.  And,  to 
begin  with,  we  deal  with  qualitative  relations  between 
impressions  of  the  same  order.  We  teach  the  child, 
for  example,  to  perceive  the  relations  between  colors 
— the  relation  of  blue  to  green,  of  green  to  yellow,  of 
yellow  to  red,  of  red  to  purple,  of  purple  to  violet,  of 
violet  to  blue.  The  transition  in  consciousness  from 
red  to  blue  is  quite  different  from  the  transition  from 
blue  to  green.  Associations  are  all  the  while  being 
formed  between  the  visual  impressions  and  the  names 
by  which  we  symbolize  them.  Again,  we  help  the 
child  to  perceive  the  relations  between  different 
sounds — the  sounds  of  nature,  the  tones  and  inflec- 
tions of  the  voice,  the  consonantal  and  vowel  sounds 
employed  in  language,  the  different  notes  in  music, 
and  the  differences  in  timbre  in  different  musical  in- 
struments. Here,  too,  a  great  deal  of  incidental  as- 
sociation is  introduced,  for  since  sound  is  so  important 
a  medium  of  intercommunication,  and  since  so  much 
depends  on  tone  and  inflection  of  the  voice,  the  per- 


80       PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

ception  of  relation  among  sounds  naturally  goes  hand 
in  hand  with,  first  the  establishment  of,  and  then 
the  perception  of,  the  suggestive  relation  through 
association. 

We  thus  lead  the  child  to  perceive  the  relations 
between  impressions  of  the  same  order — sights,  for 
example,  among  each  other,  and  sounds  among  each 
other.  Gradually  there  comes  the  perception  of  the 
two  fundamental  relations  of  similarity  and  dissimi- 
larity. Two  blues,  two  reds,  two  voice-sounds,  two 
musical  notes,  are  similar  to  each  other  ;  red  and  blue, 
voice-sound  and  violin-sound,  are  dissimilar  to  each 
other.  And  gradually,  too,  there  comes  the  percep- 
tion of  similarity  with  difference.  Two  violin-sounds 
or  two  voice-sounds  are  similar  in  quality  but  different 
in  pitch  ;  or  the  voice-sound  and  the  violin-sound 
may  be  similar  in  pitch  but  different  in  quality  ;  or, 
yet  more  generally,  the  impressions  produced  by  voice 
and  violin  are  similar  in  being  auditory  impressions, 
and  altogether  different  in  character  from  those  im- 
pressions which  we  term  visual,  olfactory,  or  motor. 
Thus  the  foundations  of  grouping  or  classification  are 
laid,  and  the  power  of  perceiving  similarity  and  dif- 
ference is  quickened. 

So  far  we  have  been  considering  qualitative  differ- 
ences, and  these  fall  under  two  heads — first,  the  more 
general  and  broader  differences  between  impressions 
of  different  groups,  auditory,  olfactory,  motor,  and 
so  forth ;  the  complete  difference,  for  example,  be- 
tween the  scent  of  a  violet,  the  sound  of  a  piano-note, 
and  the  sight  of  a  green  field  :  and  secondly,  the  more 
special  differences  between  impressions  within  the 
same  group  ;  the  difference,  for  example,  between  the 


PERCEPTION  81 

scent  of  a  violet  and  that  of  a  rose,  or  between  the 
fresh  spring  green  of  the  larch  and  the  mature  green 
of  the  cedar,  or  again,  between  the  bark  of  a  dog  and 
the  bleat  of  a  lamb.  All  these  are  sensed  as  different 
in  the  naive  life  of  sense-experience.  They  are  only 
perceived  to  be  different  when  attention  is  specially 
drawn  to  the  differences  as  such  ;  when  the  relations 
are  rendered  focal  to  consciousness. 

We  may  now  pass  on  to  consider  quantitative  re- 
lations. And  here  a  more  accurate  and  exact  train- 
ing in  the  perception  of  relations  is  possible.  Such 
training  ought,  I  think,  to  have  a  more  distinct  and 
definite  place  in  our  system  of  elementary  educa- 
tion. 

The  first  stage  in  the  perception  of  quantitative  and 
numerical  relations  is  that  in  which  the  quantity  or 
number,  as  the  case  may  be,  is  indefinite.  One  line 
may  be  perceived  to  be  longer  or  shorter  than  another 
without  a  definite  perception  of  the  exact  quantita- 
tive relation.  So,  too,  one  body  may  be  perceived  to 
be  heavier  or  lighter  than  another  ;  one  strawberry 
more  or  less  sweet  than  another  ;  one  note  louder  or 
softer  than  another  ;  one  tint  darker  or  lighter  than 
another  ;  and  so  forth.  These  arc  continuous  quan- 
tities not  naturally  broken  up  into  separate  units. 
Again,  one  group  of  objects  may  be  seen  to  be  more 
numerous  or  less  numerous  than  another  without  the 
exact  numerical  relation  being  perceived  ;  one  tree 
may  have  more  blossoms  than  another  ;  a  series  of 
notes,  of  rhythmical  movements,  of  touches,  or  of 
other  impressions,  may  be  many  or  few.  AW'  may 
perceive  the  numerical  relations  as  simply  more  or 

less  ;  not  as  how  many  more  or  less. 
6 


82       PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

The  how  much  more  or  less  involves  the  perception 
of  definite  quantitative  or  numerical  relations.  And 
this  is  impossible  until  numerical  ideas,  those  for 
twice,  thrice,  four  times,  etc.,  and  the  words  or  other 
signs  by  which  we  symbolize  them,  have  been  grasped. 
The  child  has  to  associate  the  following  : — 


12  3  4  5 

one  two  three  four  five 

And  he  has  further  to  learn  that  the  grouping  of  the 
objects  so  numbered,  and  called  one,  two,  three,  etc., 
is  immaterial.  Take,  for  example,  the  following 
arrangement  of  five  dots  : — 


The  child  has  to  learn  that  all  these  groupings  are 
numerically  equivalent — that  is  to  say,  that  these  are 
similar  numerically,  though  different  in  arrangement 
or  grouping.     As  a  child  I  associated  five  with  the 

arrangement    •    and  I  remember  being  puzzled  when 

the  same  word  was  applied  to  a  different  grouping. 
Even  how  I  tend  to  visualize  a  group  of  five  objects 
arranged  in  this  manner.  As  a  child,  too,  I  had  some 
difficulty  from  the  fact  that  the  same  terms  are  ap- 
plied to  numbers  and  to  qualities.     That  the  relation 

of    •    to        •       is  the  numerical  equivalent  of  the 

quantitative  relation  of to ; 

and  that  the  phrase  "  one  to  five"  expresses  both,  is 
not  by  any  means  obvious  to  the  child-mind  ;  or  cer- 
tainly was  not  to  mine.     This  may  be  overcome  by 


PERCEPTION  83 

drawing  a  series  of  lines  representing  the  relations  of 
continuous  quantities,  thus  : — 

.        1 

..       2 

1 ■  •  •  •        o 


•  •  •  • 


The  child  may  be  trained  in  the  perception  of  con- 
tinuous quantitative  relations  by  means  of  bits  of 
wood  or  strips  of  paper  of  different  lengths.  He 
should  also  be  taught  by  constant  practice  to  draw 
lines  exhibiting  the  simple  quantitative  relations  of 
length.  He  will  thus  be  correlating  visual  relations 
with  motor  relations  ;  or  rather,  speaking  more  accu- 
rately, he  will  be  correlating  visual  relations  associated 
with  motor  relations  as  given  in  eye-movements,  and 
motor  relations  as  given  in  finger  or  hand  movements. 
One  great  merit  of  Slojd  is  that  it  gives  a  training *in 
the  perception  of  continuous  quantitative  relations. 
And  it  is  worth  noting  that  by  far  the  most  accurate 
perception  of  the  relations  of  continuous  quantities 
are  by  means  of  eye-movements  in  correlation  with 
visual  impressions.  This  is  probably  due  in  part  to 
the  fact  that  the  transitions  in  consciousness,  for 
example,  from  the  impression  of  one  end  of  a  line  to 
that  of  the  other  end,  are  accompanied  by  the  pre- 
sentative  sensory  data  of  eye-movements  ;  and  in  part 
to  the  fact  that,  owing  to  the  constant  use  of  our  eyes 
from  morning  to  night,  we  have  so  much  practice  in 
the  employment  of  this  special  mode  of  perception. 
In  any  case,  as  we  shall  see  (p.  177),  a  good  deal  of 
use  is  made  of  the  fact. 

For  much  the  same  reason,  the  direct  perception  of 


84       PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

the  quantitative  value  of  angles  is  one  that  is  of  re- 
markable accuracy  ;  for  we  are  constantly  looking  out 
at  the  world  around  us  along  radii  of  a  circle  of 
which  we  form  the  centre,  and  radii  which  are  in- 
clined to  each  other  at  definite  angles.  Both  for  its 
own  sake  as  affording  a  training  in  the  accurate  per- 
ception of  relations,  and  from  its  great  range  and 
importance  in  physical  science,  the  child  can  hardly 
be  too  soon,  and  cannot  be  too  exactly,  trained  in  the 
perception  of  angular  values.  Such  training  should 
of  course  be  accompanied  by  practice  in  the  drawing 
of  angles  and  in  the  correlations  this  involves.  We 
have,  too,  here  a  means  of  bringing  out  that  which 

I 


is  of  so  great  importance  in  the  acquisition  of  exact 
knowledge,  the  due  perception  of  similarity  with 
difference.  The  angular  distance  of  a  l,  and  of  m  n, 
in  relation  to  the  centre  c,  on  radii  from  which  they 
are  placed,  is  the  same  ;  but  the  direct  distance  from 
a  to  b  is  only  half  that  from  m  to  n  ;  while  the  dis- 
tance of  c  to  a  is  greater  than  that  from  c  to  b,  and 
that  of  c  to  m  greater  than  that  from  c  to  n.  When 
we  remember  that  in  astronomy  our  direct  measure- 
ments are  those  of  angular  distance,  and  that  the 
bodies  so  observed  are  at  different  distances  from  us 
the  observers  ;   when   we   remember,    too,  that  the 


PERCEPTION  85 

positions  of  places  on  our  geographical  maps  are  given 
in  terms  of  angular  distance — that  is,  in  degrees, 
minutes,  etc. — it  will  be  clear  that  the  training  in 
such  perceptions  of  angular  relations  will  be  of  great 
service  to  the  child  as  he  proceeds  with  his  studies. 
There  are  a  great  number  of  people  of  average  educa- 
tion and  intelligence  who  could  not  tell  you  why  we 
speak  of  (t  degrees"  of  latitude  and  longitude,  and 
for  whom  the  phrase  ie  angular  value"  has  little  or 
no  meaning.  And  this  is  in  large  measure  due 
to  the  fact  that  their  powers  of  perception  have 
never  been  exercised  in  relations  of  angular  magni- 
tude. 

The  direct  perception  of  relations  of  area  or  super- 
ficial extent  is  a  good  deal  more  difficult  than  that  of 
relations  of  linear  length.  Nor  is  this  to  be  wonderecl 
at,  since  it  involves,  at  any  rate  in  its  more  exact 
application,  two  dimensions  in  space.  Not  that  the 
child  need  in  the  first  instance  analyze  the  areas 
the  size  of  which  he  is  comparing  into  linear  relations 
in  two  directions.  At  first  he  directly  perceives, 
without  analysis,  that  one  area  is  larger  than  the 
other,  and  then  roughly  how  much  larger.  But  it 
will  be  found  that  the  more  nice  and  exact  perception 
of  the  relative  sizes  of  different  areas  involves  the 
more  or  less  conscious  analysis  of  the  area  in  its  two 
dimensional  directions,  and  the  synthetic  combination 
of  the  two  perceptions  in  the  final  perception.  This 
therefore  serves  as  an  example  of  what  we  may  term 
compound  perception,  the  final  result  of  which  is  due 
to  the  synthesis  of  simple  perceptions.  An  example 
of  the  same  kind  of  thing  carried  a  stage  farther,  is 
seen  in  the  quantitative  perception  of  cubical  volumes. 


86       PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

Here,  for  the  purposes  of  exact  comparison,  linear 
perceptions  in  three  dimensions  have  to  be  combined 
in  the  final  result. 

The  perception  of  quantitative  relations  of  weight, 
of  pressure,  of  depth  of  tint  in  color,  of  amount  of 
salinity,  acidity,  or  sweetness  in  taste,  are  less  accurate 
than  those  of  linear  length,  probably,  as  before  noted, 
in  part  at  least,  from  the  fact  that  the  transitions  in 
consciousness  are  in  these  cases  not  accompanied  by 
continuous  motor  sensations.  Still,  even  in  these 
cases,  practice  improves  to  a  surprising  degree  the 
accuracy  of  perception.  The  artist  can  perceive  re- 
lations of  intensity  and  purity  of  color  in  a  way  in 
which  no  one  without  his  special  training  could  hope 
to  do.  The  tea-taster  and  the  wine-taster  acquire 
an  accuracy  of  perception  which  to  one  who  is  un- 
trained appears  to  be  the  result  of  an  unusual  natu- 
ral gift ;  while  a  man  who  has  been  trained  in  such 
work  detects  differences  in  the  scent  of  different 
samples  of  raw  tobacco-leaf  which  to  ordinary  per- 
ception would  pass  unnoticed. 

The  direct  perception  of  time-relations  is  seldom 
made  a  matter  of  practical  observation,  except  to 
some  extent  in  music.  It  is  not  difficult,  however,  to 
perceive  the  equality  or  inequality  of  a  series  of  time- 
intervals,  unless  they  are  too  long.  If  a  series  of 
taps  about  a  second  or  so  apart  be  made,  one  can 
readily  perceive  whether  they  are  equidistant  in  time, 
or  whether  the  intervals  are  too  short  or  too  long. 
Nor  is  it  difficult  to  say  whether,  when  one  short  in- 
terval has  been  given,  another,  similarly  given,  is 
twice,  thrice,  or  four  times  that  interval.  In  these 
cases  we  tend  to  fill  in  the  gap  with  so  many  similar 


PERCEPTION  87 

intervals — two,  three,  four,  and  so  on,  as  the  case 
may  be.  When  a  series  of  similar  intervals  are  pre- 
sentatively  given,  it  is  surprising  with  what  accuracy 
extensive  groups  of  them  can  be  perceived  without 
counting.  Listen,  for  example,  to  the  ticking  of  a 
clock  or  your  watch.  The  sounds  may  readily  be 
made,  without  actual  counting,  to  fall  into  a  rhythm. 
If,  for  example,  I  listen  to  the  ticking  of  my  watch, 
the  sounds  tend  to  fall  into  a  six-rhythm  or  an  eight- 
rhythm.  The  first  of  every  six  or  of  every  eight  is, 
so  to  speak,  emphasized.  This  emphasis  is  inde- 
pendent of  actual  counting.  When  the  rhythm  has 
been  established,  one  may,  without  much  difficulty, 
group  the  emphatic  sounds  into  a  wider  rhythm  of 
their  own,  and  thus,  through  the  double  rhythm, 
perceive  time-intervals  of  many  seconds. 

You  will  probably  find  that,  if  you  experiment  in 
this  way  with  your  watch,  when  a  six,  eight,  or  other 
rhythm  has  been  established,  you  have  timed  your 
breathing  to  the  rhythm — a  pretty  example  of  sub- 
conscious correlation.  Of  course,  by  counting  the 
sounds,  or  more  readily  by  counting  the  rhythmic 
sets  of  sounds,  we  can  accurately  measure  intervals  of 
almost  any  desired  length  ;  but  here  we  are  going 
beyond  direct  perception. 

Note  that  we  are  in  such  cases  dealing  with  com- 
pound perception  ;  we  are  combining  the  perception 
of  time-relations  with  the  perception  of  numerical 
relations.  Omitting  now  this  numerical  element 
in  the  perception  of  time-intervals,  dealing,  that 
is  to  say,  with  the  intervals  as  such,  and  not  with 
the  summation  of  a  number  of  similar  interval-, 
we  may  inquire  what  is  the  psychological  nature  of 


88       PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

the  time-relation.  It  would  seem  to  be  primarily  the 
amount  of  sense-fading  which  an  impression  has  un- 
dergone. An  impression,  whether  of  hearing  or  sight 
or  touch,  does  not  disappear  from  consciousness 
suddenly,  but  fades  gradually.  It  does  last,  indeed, 
for  a  little  while  without  any  sensible  fading.  A 
visual  impression,  no  matter  how  instantaneous  the 
physical  cause  thereof  may  be — as  in  the  case,  for 
example,  of  the  electric  spark — dwells  in  conscious- 
ness about  -h  of  a  second  without  sensible  fading.  If, 
therefore,  sparks  follow  each  other  more  rapidly  than 
twenty-five  to  the  second  they  appear  continuous  to 
the  eye,  though  by  the  ear,  in  which  the  sense-fading 
is  much  more  rapid,  they  are  heard  to  be  discontinu- 
ous as  a  series  of  distinct  snaps.  Hence  the  blurred 
appearance  presented  by  the  spokes  of  the  wheels 
when  a  gig  is  in  rapid  motion.  The  photograph  sees 
(if  one  may  so  describe  its  action)  very  much  more 
instantaneously  than  the  eye.  Hence  instantaneous 
photographs  of  animals  in  motion  look  unnatural ; 
the  photograph  sees  them  and  fixes  them  in  a  way 
that  no  human  eye  can  ever  see  them. 

There  is  thus  a  short  period  in  which  there  is  little 
or  no  sensible  fading.  Beyond  this  period  the  im- 
pression lingers  in  consciousness,  and  fades  away 
gradually.  In  directly  perceiving  time-relations  we 
are  perceiving  the  amount  of  this  fading.  Natural 
bodily  rhythms,  like  that  of  respiration,  or  that  of 
walking — into  which  this  element  of  fading  also 
largely  enters — are  of  considerable  assistance  to  us, 
through  correlation,  in  perceiving  the  quantitative 
value  of  time-relations. 

There  is  one  more  point  to  notice  about  the  per- 


PERCEPTION  89 

ception  of  time-relations.  It  is  that  for  purposes 
both  of  science  and  of  daily  practical  life  we  translate 
them,  so  to  speak,  into  space-relations  in  order  that 
we  may  perceive  their  exact  value.  We  look  at  the 
clock,  and  perceive  that  the  minute-hand  has  passed 
over  an  angular  distance  of  60°,  and  at  once  say  that 
ten  minutes  have  elapsed.  In  the  sundial  we  estimate 
time  by  the  space  over  which  the  shadow  has  passed. 
King  Alfred  perceived  time-intervals  through  the 
intervention  of  space-intervals  when  he  noticed  how 
much  of  his  candle  had  been  burned  away.  The 
savage  perceives  the  position  of  the  sun  in  the  heavens 
and  thus  notes  the  passage  of  time. 

Attention  must  now  be  drawn  to  the  fact  that  the 
relations  which  we  perceive  are  in  all  cases  particular 
relations,  though  it  does  not  by  any  means  follow 
that  the  related  terms  should  both  be  particular. 
The  particularity  lies  in  the  relation,  not  in  the  terms 
that  are  related,  one  or  other  of  which  may  be,  as 
we  shall  hereafter  see,  the  product  of  generalization. 
We  perceive  the  length-relation  between  this  line  and 
that  line,  the  size-relation  between  this  area  and 
that  area,  the  relation  of  pitch  between  this  note  and 
that  note,  or,  if  we  have  good  auditory  memories, 
between  this  note  and  our  auditory  idea  of  the  tenor 
A,  the  relation  of  color  between  this  tint  and  that 
tint,  or  perhaps  between  our  visual  idea  of  the  full 
red  of  the  spectrum  and  the  red  of  last  night's  sun- 
set. Where  we  are  actually  perceiving  the  relation 
between  two  presentative  impressions — the  relation, 
for  example,  of  the  taste  of  this  nectarine  and  that 
peach — we  may,  as  before  suggested,  sjieak  of  it  as 
presentative,  and  call  it  an  "  impression  of  relation  " ; 


90       PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

the  "  idea  of  relation  "  is  then  the  re-presentation  of 
a  relation  that  has  been  perceived.  But  when  we 
perceive  the  relation  between  two  sense-ideas,  as  in 
the  case  of  the  red  of  the  spectrum  and  that  of  last 
night's  sunset,  the  relation  is  presentative  though  the 
ideas  between  which  the  relation  is  perceived  are  re- 
presentative. 

It  will  be  noticed  that  perception  makes  new  use 
of  the  old  materials  of  sense-experience.  In  sense- 
experience  all  the  data  for  at  any  rate  the  simpler 
objects  of  perception  are  already  given ;  but  they 
are  given  in  subconscious  awareness,  not  in  fully 
conscious  focal  perception.  The  impressions  are 
given  in  the  clear  definiteness  of  focal  consciousness ; 
the  transitions  between  them  are  also  given,  but  only 
in  the  half-light  of  subconsciousness.  Attention  has 
never  been  reflectively  focussed  upon  them.  When 
the  clear  illumination  of  attention  is  reflectively 
thrown  upon  them  they  become  objects  of  percep- 
tion. That  is  what  is  meant  by  saying  that  percep- 
tion makes  new  use  of  the  old  materials  of  sense- 
experience.  If  one  may  so  put  it,  the  head  and  tail  of 
the  surrounding  world  is  given  in  sense-experience ; 
but  it  needs  perception  to  see  the  relation  of  head 
to  tail  in  that  experience. 

Perception  thus  presents  to  consciousness  new  ob- 
jects, namely,  the  relations  which  are  perceived.  But 
not  only  are  there  new  objects  in  the  focus ;  the 
marginal  region,  and  with  it  the  whole  field  of  con- 
sciousness, is  modified,  and  profoundly  modified,  by 
the  introduction  of  a  new  set  of  elements.  Sense- 
experience  deals  with  impressions  of  sense  and  their 
re-presentative  ideas,  and  the  margin  or  background 


PERCEPTION  91 

in  sense-experience  is  constituted  by  elements  of  like 
order,  presentative  or  re-presentative.  The  object  of 
sense,  set  in  such  a  margin,  is  the  sencept.  But 
when  perception  introduces  the  new  elements  which 
we  term  relations,  these  elements  are,  so  to  speak, 
woven  into  the  margin  or  background  of  conscious- 
ness. An  object  of  sense  is  now  no  longer  a  new  im- 
pression, but  this  and  something  more.  It  is  set  in 
a  background  which  perception  has  rendered  rela- 
tional. To  such  an  impression  set  in  a  subconscious 
relational  background  we  may  apply  the  term. percept. 
When  I  look  out,  as  I  am  now  doing,  across  the  blue- 
green  waters  of  Weymouth  Bay  and  see  the  headland 
of  Portland  against  the  horizon,  this  is  not  merely 
an  impression  of  sense  ;  it  is  a  percept,  since  it  is  set 
in  a  background  of  space-relations,  wrought  into  the 
margin  of  my  consciousness  by  all  my  past  experience 
of  such  relations.  And  when  I  see  a  column  of  white 
spray  suddenly  rise  from  the  water,  I  listen  atten- 
tively, and  after  an  interval  of  half  a  minute  or  more 
I  hear,  and  even  feel,  the  boom  of  a  great  gun.  The 
Channel  Squadron  are  " prize-firing"  in  the  bay. 
The  spirt  of  water  I  see,  the  boom  of  the  cannon 
that  I  hear,  the  reverberations  which  roll  along  the 
bay  from  cliff  to  cliff,  all  these  are  for  me  not  merely 
impressions  of  sense,  they  are  raised  to  the  level  of 
percepts  through  their  relational  setting.  And  when 
the  prolonged  reverberation  gives  rise  in  my  mind 
to  the  idea  of  thunder,  this  is  not  due  merely 
to  the  natural  resemblance  in  the  Bounds,  but  also 
to  the  influence  of  perceived  similarity  of  rela- 
tions. 

The  percept,  then,  is  the  point  of  application  of 


92       PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

the  ideas  of  relation  with  which  the  mind  has  been 
stored  by  the  exercise  of  the  faculty  of  perception 
and,  we  may  add,  of  those  generalized  ideas  with 
which  the  next  chapter  will  deal. 


CHAPTER  V 

ANALYSIS  AND    GENERALIZATION 

When  we  analyze  a  substance  chemically  we  split  it 
up  into  its  constituent  elements.  We  might  examine 
a  drop  of  water  with  the  highest  powers  of  the  micro- 
scope, and  we  should  not  be  able  to  distinguish  the 
constituent  oxygen  from  the  constituent  hydrogen. 
But  when  we  take  pure  water  and  by  appropriate 
means  analyze  it  chemically,  we  separate  the  constit- 
uent hydrogen  from  the  constituent  oxygen.  We  may 
term  this  kind  of  analysis  dissociating  analysis.  But 
if  instead  of  pure  water  we  select  such  a  substance  as 
a  piece  of  granite,  we  may  analyze  it  to  some  extent 
without  submitting  it  to  the  process  of  chemical  dis- 
sociation. By  careful  examination  with  the  naked 
eye  or  with  a  lens,  we  may  distinguish  the  constitu- 
ent minerals,  the  quartz,  the  mica,  the  felspar,  and 
so  forth.  We  do  not  dissociate  them  in  this  case  ;  we 
leave  them  just  as  they  were  ;  we  merely  distinguish 
them.  And  in  doing  so,  we  may  fix  our  attention 
first  on  the  quartz,  to  the  subordination  of  the  mica 
and  the  felspar  ;  then  on  the  mica,  to  the  subordina- 
tion of  the  other  two  constituents  ;  and  then  on  the 
felspar  in  like  manner.     This  we  may  call  di  stingy,  ish- 

ing  analysis,  as  contrasted  with  the  dissociating  an- 

93 


94       PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

alysis  of  chemistry.  It  is  of  distinguishing  analysis, 
not  of  dissociating  analysis,  that  I  am  now  going  to 
speak. 

We  may  treat  any  impression  or  series  of  impres- 
sions in  a  manner  analogous  to  that  in  which  we 
treated  the  impression  of  a  piece  of  granite.  We  may 
single  out  certain  constituents  for  focal  attention  to 
the  more  or  less  complete  subordination  of  other  con- 
stituents. But  is  not  this  just  what  we  do  in  our 
daily  practical  experience  ?  Do  we  not  have  a  focal 
impression  and  marginal  constituents  which  are  so 
far  subordinated  as  to  be  relegated  to  the  sub-con- 
scious background  ?  Yonder  yacht  that  I  see  beat- 
ing up  against  the  wind,  am  I  not  selecting  that  for 
focal  attention,  and  practically  neglecting  the  rest 
of  the  visual  field,  rocks,  sea,  sky,  to  say  nothing  of 
numerous  other  constituents,  auditory,  olfactory, 
tactual,  and  other,  of  the  subconscious  margin  ? 
Certainly  we  have  here  the  faculty  which,  applied 
to  a  new  end,  makes  distinguishing  analysis  possible. 
But  it  is  just  in  this  special  application  that  the  dif- 
ference lies.  When  I  fix  my  attention  on  the  yacht 
to  the  practical  neglect  of  so  much  that  is  marginal 
in  consciousness,  I  do  not  do  so  for  the  purpose  of 
analysis.  But  if  I  consider  what  was  the  nature  of 
my  state  of  consciousness  when  I  looked  at  the  yacht, 
directing  my  procedure  to  the  special  end  of  distin- 
guishing the  focal  impression  from  the  marginal  set- 
ting, then  I  take  a  step  in  analysis.  In  the  analysis,  as 
such,there  is  conscious  and  intentional  reference  to  the 
relation  of  that  which  is  distinguished  to  the  subor- 
dinate residue  from  which  it  is  thus  distinguished. 

Let  us,  however,  look  at  the  matter  in  its  objective 


ANALYSIS  AND  GENERALIZATION  95 

aspect  first ;  for  it  is  in  this  aspect,  and  this  only, 
that  we  should  teach  our  children  to  analyze.  I 
pluck  a  pimpernel  from  the  ground  at  my  side,  and 
distinguish  root,  stem,  leaves,  and  flower  ;  and,  con- 
tinuing my  analysis,  distinguish  in  the  flowers,  bracts, 
petals,  stamens,  and  pistil.  The  analysis  is  purely 
objective  ;  I  am  not  considering  the  subjective  aspect 
of  the  states  of  consciousness.  In  distinguishing 
each  part,  and  focussing  my  attention  upon  that,  to 
the  temporary  subordination,  but  by  no  means  the 
complete  neglect,  of  the  other  parts,  I  have  in  view 
its  relation  to  these  other  parts  from  which  I  am  dis- 
tinguishing it.  We  may  say,  then,  that  this  analysis 
with  which  we  are  now  dealing  is  the  art  of  making 
predominant  some  particular  element  in  a  complex 
impression  to  the  subordination  of  the  other  element*, 
and  of  perceiving  the  relation  of  the  predominant 
element  to  the  subordinate  dements.  There  is  ]->rob- 
ably  no  subject  better  fitted  than  elementary  obser- 
vational botany  for  training  a  child  in  this  objective 
analysis.  The  several  parts  of  a  plant  lend  them- 
selves admirably  to  successive  selection  for  predomi- 
nance ;  the  relations  of  the  parts  to  each  other,  and 
of  each  to  the  whole,  are  comparatively  simple  ;  and 
material  for  study  is  readily  obtainable.  Of  course, 
the  training  must  throughout  be  practical,  in  actual 
touch  with  the  natural  object.  The  teacher  must 
refrain  from  introducing  explanations  beyond  the 
grasp  of  the  child's  mind.  He  must,  in  fact,  have 
clear  ideas  of  what  he  is  teaching,  and  what  mental 
faculty  it  is  his  object  to  train  and  strengthen.  An 
occasional  visit  to  a  museum,  when  that  is  possible, 
will  afford  a  great  variety  of  objects  on  which  the 


96       PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

child  may  be  taught  to  exercise  his  powers  of  analy- 
sis. In  a  country  walk  the  elements  of  scenery  may 
be  made  to  serve  the  same  end.  The  hill  may  be 
made  focal  and  predominant,  the  valley  being  tem- 
porarily subordinated,  and  the  relation  of  the  valley 
to  the  hill  brought  home  to  perception,  the  slopes 
sweeping  upward  to  constitute  the  high  ground. 
Then  the  valley  with  its  streamlet  may  be  made  pre- 
dominant, the  hillsides  being  subordinate,  and  a  new 
aspect  of  the  relation  may  be  emphasized  in  percep- 
tion— the  hillsides  sloping  to  the  valley  bed  and  form- 
ing the  collecting  ground  for  the  waters  of  the 
streamlet.  In  a  seaside  ramble  the  analysis  into 
headland  and  bay,  and  the  relations  they  bear  to 
each  other,  may  similarly  be  brought  out.  Nor  is  it 
necessary  to  go  to  field  or  museum,  to  hillside  or 
headland,  to  find  materials  for  this  purpose.  The 
qualities  of  size,  shape,  color,  weight,  hardness,  re- 
sistance, are  possessed  by  the  commonest  solid  ob- 
jects, and  each  of  these  qualities  may  be  severally 
distinguished  in  analysis  from  the  other  qualities 
with  which  it  is  naturally  associated  ;  each  may  in 
turn  be  made  focal  and  predominant  to  the  mar- 
ginal subordination  of  the  others  ;  and  the  relations  of 
each  as  predominant  to  the  others  as  subordinate, 
may  be  brought  home  to  perception. 

Subjective  analysis,  involving  as  it  does  intro- 
spection and  close  attention  to  the  phenomena  of 
consciousness,  is  not  a  matter  for  children.  But  the 
teacher  may  with  advantage  exercise  himself  in  such 
analysis.  He  may  distinguish  in  the  subjective 
aspect  of  the  impression  the  several  sensations  which 
constitute  it,  and  may  render  now  one,  now  another, 


ANALYSIS  AND  GENERALIZATION  97 

predominant  to  the  subordination  of  the  others,  and 
endeavor  to  perceive  the  relations  which  hold  good 
between  them.  He  may  exercise  himself  in  render- 
ing focal  and  predominant  sensations,  such  as  the 
motor  sensations,  which  are  normally  subordinate — 
for  example,  the  sensations  which  accompany  the 
accommodation  of  the  eyes  for  varying  distances,  or 
the  motor  sensations  in  writing,  drawing,  and  other 
skilled  activities.  He  may  practise  himself  in  ren- 
dering focal  the  perceptual  part  of  his  experience, 
and  the  relations  which  under  ordinary  circumstances 
are  taken  for  granted  and  pass  unheeded.  He  must 
remember  that  a  good  deal  of  experience  which  was 
once  fully  conscious  and  needed  attention  has  long 
ago  for  him  become  subconscious  and  needs  no  at- 
tention ;  and  that  the  child  is  in  the  condition  in 
which  he  himself  once  was,  and  which  he  can  only 
realize  by  a  special  effort  directed  to  that  end.  And 
as  he  carries  on  his  introspective  analysis  he  will 
come  to  understand  more  clearly  how  the  states  of 
consciousness  which  is  naive  sense-experience  are 
sensed  as  wholes,  comprise  numerous  constitutent 
elements  which  in  analysis  may  be  distinguished  and 
rendered  successively  predominant,  thus  rendering 
possible  the  perception  of  the  relations  which  hold 
good  between  them. 

Let  us  here  notice  that  the  process  of  perception 
which  we  considered  in  the  last  chapter  in  part  in- 
volves and  in  part  leads  up  to  the  analysis  with  which 
we  are  now  dealing.  When  we  perceive  the  relative 
sweetness  of  two  strawberries,  or  the  relative  weights 
of  two  pieces  of  metal,  we  make  these  particular 
qualities  of  the  natural  objects  predominant,  since  it 
7 


98  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

is  the  relation  in  respect  of  these  particular  qualities 
that  we  are  perceiving.  So  too  when  we  are  per- 
ceiving the  relative  lengths  of  two  sticks,  or  pieces 
of  string,  or  lines  drawn  upon  paper  or  on  the  black- 
board, it  is  the  length  element  in  the  impressions 
that  we  cause  to  predominate  over  the  other  charac- 
ters, such  as  the  color,  black  or  gray  in  the  case  of 
the  line  on  paper,  white  on  the  blackboard.  Thus 
the  process  of  perception  helps  to  lead  up  to  that  of 
analysis,  since  it  necessitates  the  predominance  in 
consciousness  of  that  particular  aspect  of  the  impres- 
sions to  which  attention  is  directed  in  perceiving  the 
relation.  Wherein  lies  the  difference,  then,  between 
the  predominance  given  in  the  act  of  perception  and 
the  predominance  given  in  analysis  ?  Again  we 
must  answer,  In  the  purpose  and  end  in  view.  In 
perception  we  neglect  or  ignore  such  elements  of  the 
impressions  as  are  not  involved  in  the  special  relation 
which  is  the  object  of  perception.  They  nowise 
concern  us  for  the  purposes  of  perceiving  the  relation. 
But  in  analysis  our  aim  and  object  is  to  render  a 
particular  aspect  of  the  impression  predominant, 
with  a  view  to  perceiving  its  relations  to  other  aspects 
of  the  impression  which  are  temporarily  subordinate. 
In  the  one  case  we  neglect  or  ignore  all  those  aspects 
of  the  impression  that  are  not  rendered  predomi- 
nant ;  in  the  other  case  we  make  them  subordinate  in 
order  that  we  may  perceive  the  relations  which  they 
bear  to  that  which  we  are  making  for  the  time  pre- 
dominant. We  analyze  the  plant  into  root,  stem, 
leaves,  flowers,  and  so  forth,  in  order  that  we  may 
perceive  the  relations  which  these  parts  bear  to  each 
other  in  the  plant. 


ANALYSIS  AND  GENERALIZATION  <jQ 

The  complement  to  analysis  is  synthesis,  a  fully 
conscious  and  intentional  process,  to  be  distinguished 
from  the  "natural  synthesis"  of  which  we  before 
spoke.  When  we  have  analyzed  our  plant  into  root, 
stem,  leaves,  flowers,  etc,  when  we  have  perceived 
the  relations  which  these  parts  bear  to  each  other 
and  to  the  whole  of  which  they  are  parts,  then  we 
synthetically  recombine  the  constituents  in  their  due 
relations.  Only  when  we  have  done  this,  and  when 
we  have  perceived  the  relations  of  this  object  to  other 
objects,  does  the  plant  stand  out  as  a  fully  developed 
percept,  We  look  at  the  plant  with  the  same  eyes  ; 
it  is  still  an  object  of  sense-experience,  but  it  is  this 
and  something  more.  It  is  set  in  a  background  of 
relations  which  have  been  duly  perceived  ;  it  is  an 
object  of  an  experience  in  which  sensation  and  per- 
ception have  been  combined,  and  towards  which  each 
has  contributed  indue  degree  and  proportion. 

Let  us  note  how  analysis  and  synthesis  are  com- 
bined and  co-operate  in  spelling  and  in  pronuncia- 
tion. Take,  for  example,  the  pronunciation  of  such 
a  word  as  "  flag."  We  pronounce  the  word  rapidly, 
and  regard  it  as  a  whole.  But  now  let  us  analyze  it. 
Pronouncing  it  slowly,  and  paying  attention  to  the 
sounds  and  their  accompanying  vocalization-move- 
ments, we  find  four  constituents,  each  of  which  is 
made  predominant  in  turn  to  the  subordination  of 
the  others  ;  the  relations  of  each  to  the  other  being 
perceived.  Having  thus  analyzed  and  perceived  the 
relations  of  the  analytic  products,  we  recombine  in 
accurately  proportioned  synthesis  ;  and  the  word 
"flag,"  as  we  again  rapidly  pronounce  it,  is  a  def- 
inite percept.     So  too  with  spelling  :  we  analyze  the 


100      PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

word  "  flag  *  as  written  or  printed.  We  make  each 
letter  in  turn  predominant,  and  take  note  of  its  re- 
lation in  the  word  to  the  other  letter  ;  and  then, 
taking  in  the  whole  word  at  a  glance,  we  view  it 
synthetically,  recombining  the  products  of  our  an- 
alysis. Finally,  we  correlate  the  two  analyses,  and 
perceive  the  points  of  similarity  and  the  points  of 
difference.  There  are  four  letters,  as  there  are  four 
sounds  :  the  names  we  give  to  the  first  two  pretty 
closely  resemble  to  our  ear  the  pronunciation-sounds 
in  e '  flag "  ;  but  the  names  we  give  to  the  last  two 
differ  markedly  for  the  ear  from  the  pronunciation- 
sounds  which  enter  into  the  synthesis  of  the  word 
"  flag  "  as  pronounced.  The  object  of  spelling  re- 
forms is  to  assimilate  pronunciation-sounds  and  the 
sounds  of  the  names  we  give  to  the  constituent  letters, 
to  get  rid  of  the  anomaly  of  spelling  the  same  sounds 
in  different  manners  (as  in  the  latter  part  of  the 
words  "beau,"  "queen,"  "mien,"  "serene,"  and 
"  quinine  "),  and  of  spelling  different  sounds  in  the 
same  manner  (as  in  "  enough,"  "bough,"  "trough," 
"borough,"  and  "hough"). 

Let  us  now  pass  to  generalization.  Attention  has 
already  been  drawn  to  the  fact  that  the  objects  of 
perception  are  particular  relations.  We  perceive  the 
relation  of  pitch  between  this  note  and  that  note,  the 
relation  of  length  between  this  line  and  that  line, 
the  relation  of  color  between  this  leaf  and  that  leaf. 
In  all  such  cases  of  perception  we  are  dealing  with 
the  relations  between  particulars.  In  the  case  of 
quantitative  relations  perception  is  also  particular. 
We  perceive  that  the  weight  of  this  piece  of  metal 
is  twice  the  weight  of  that ;  that  this  time-interval 


ANALYSIS  AND  GENERALIZATION  101 

is  thrice  that ;  that  this  slip  of  paper  -is  .half  the" 
length  of  that  slip.  But  it  must  soon  strike  the  child 
who  is  exercising  his  faculty  of  perception,  .thai  {he 
same  relation  holds  good  for  a  number  of  pairs  of 
objects  ;  the  objects  exhibiting  the  relation  differing 
while  the  relation  itself  remains  unchanged.  Two 
marbles  are  placed  at  a  distance  of  a  yard  apart  :  the 
marbles  may  be  removed,  and  pieces  of  stone,  or  bits 
of  wood,  or  marks  on  the  floor,  may  be  substituted. 
The  distance-relation  is  perceived  to  remain  unaltered. 
Or  the  marbles,  the  pieces  of  stone,  the  bits  of  wood, 
the  marks  on  the  floor,  may  be  arranged,  a  yard  apart, 
in  different  parts  of  the  room  ;  and  the  child  may 
perceive  that  the  space-relations  are  in  all  the  cases 
similar.  The  distance-relation  common  to  a  number 
of  distinct  and  separate  perceptions  is  thus  floated 
off,  so  to  speak,  from  the  particulars  in  and  through 
which  it  is  exhibited,  and  the  child  reaches  the 
general  idea  of  the  distance  which  we  call  a  yard. 
Again,  the  child  may  perceive  that  this  piece  of 
metal  is  twice  the  weight  of  that,  this  line  twice  the 
length  of  that,  this  time-interval  twice  as  great  as 
that  ;  and  then  further  perceive  that  the  quantitative 
relations  are  in  all  these  cases  the  same.  lie  thus 
gains  a  general  idea  of  the  numerical  relation  which 
we  symbolize  by  the  word  "twice"  ;  the  general  idea 
being  floated  off  from  the  particular  cases  in  which 
it  is  exemjnified.  Such  a  general  idea  of  relation 
thus  involves  the  perception  of  the  similarity  of  a 
number  of  special  relations  ;  the  distinguishing  in 
analysis  of  the  relations  from  the  particular  objects 
which  exhibit  the  relations  ;  and  the  grouping  of 
these  similar  relations  under  one  general  head.     This 


102  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

grouping  together  of  a  number  of  relations,  distin- 
guished  through  analysis,  in  virtue  of  their  perceived 
similarity,  is  termed. conception. 

Note,  however,  that  conception,  properly  so  called, 
is  a  fully  conscious  process  performed  with  a  definite 
end  in  view.  The  generalization  from  particulars  is 
an  intentional  one.  It  involves  an  extension  of  that 
reflection  to  which  allusion  was  made  in  the  last 
chapter.  For  it  is  clear  that  if  we  are  to  perceive 
that  the  same  relation  holds  good  in  a  number  of 
particular  instances,  and  thus  to  conceive  the  relation- 
ship in  general,  we  must  look  back  reflectively,  not 
only  on  the  experience  of  a  moment  ago,  but  on  that 
more  prolonged  experience  during  which  the  particu- 
lar instances  were  presented  to  consciousness.  Note 
also  that,  whereas  the  particular  relation  which  is  the 
object  of  percej)tion  may  be  in  such  close  touch  with 
presentative  impression  that  we  may  sj^eak  of  it  as 
itself  an  impression  of  relation,  the  generalized  re- 
lation which  is  the  object  of  conception  is  necessarily 
the  outcome  of  attention  directed  to  re-presentative 
experience,  so  that  we  cannot  speak  of  a  general  im- 
pression of  relation,  but  must  speak  of  a  general  idea 
of  relation.  Impressions  must  always  be  particular  ; 
ideas  may  be  particular  Or  general.  The  products 
of  generalization  are  ideas,  not  impressions. 

In  the  development  of  experience,  perception  pre- 
cedes conception,  which  follows  after  a  longer  or 
shorter  interval.  Some  psychologists  would,  how- 
ever, deny  that  this  is  so.  They  say  that  in  percep- 
tion we  apply  a  general  conception  to  a  particular 
case.  We  apply,  for  example,  the  general  concep- 
tion which  we  symbolize  by  the  word  "  half "  to  the 


ANALYSIS  AND  GENERALIZATION  103 

particular  case  of  the  weights  of  these  two  pieces  of 
metal.  They  say,  further,  that  the  term  "  weight " 
is  itself  symbolic  of  a  general  conception  of  which 
we  merely  see  a  particular  example  in  this  or  that 
body  which,  as  we  say,  possesses  weight.  Every 
term  which  we  employ  to  express  relations  is,  they 
say,  expressive  of  a  general  idea,  such  as  hardness, 
length,  sweetness,  color,  and  so  forth.  If,  then, 
they  argue,  we  are,  in  perception,  applying  a  general 
conception  in  a  particular  instance,  it  is  clear  that 
the  conception  which  we  thus  apply  must  precede  the 
perception  which  consists  in  its  special  application. 

This  sounds  somewhat  convincing  ;  and  it  may  not 
at  first  be  easy  to  see  what  reply  is  to  be  given  to  this 
contention.  Moreover,  it  is  perfectly  true  that  when 
we  perceive  that  an  angle  of  10°  is  twice  an  angle  of 
5°,  we  are  applying  certain  general  conceptions  to  a 
particular  case.  It  will  be  worth  while,  therefore — 
especially  as  the  relation  of  perception  to  conception 
is  one  that  it  is  important  to  make  clear — to  take  some 
trouble  in  endeavoring  to  put  the  matter  in  what 
would  seem  to  be  its  true  light. 

Let  us  take  a  particular  case.  A  child  is  given 
two  pieces  of  metal,  and  is  taught  to  perceive  that 
the  one  is  heavier  than  the  other.  Let  us  suppose 
that  he  succeeds  in  perceiving  the  relation  which  we 
wish  to  bring  home  to  his  perception.  It  is  sym- 
bolized for  him  by  that  word  "  heavier. **  In  perceiv- 
ing that  the  one  piece  of  metal  is  heavier  than  the 
other,  the  child  is  not  applying  a  general  conception 
to  the  particular  case,  lie  has  not  yet  reached  a 
general  conception  of  weight,  and  cannot  reach  it 
until  he  has  accumulated  a  store  of  jjarticular  instances 


104      PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

from  which,  by  generalization,  the  conception  can  take 
form  in  his  mind.  The  perception,  then,  for  the 
child  is  quite  particular,  and  not  a  case  of  the  general 
exemplified  in  the  particular.  We  proceed  now  to 
exercise  him  in  this  mode  of  perception.  We  give 
him  a  great  number  of  pairs  of  material  bodies  to 
poise  in  his  hands  and  tell  us  which  is  the  heavier  of 
the  two.  As  he  does  so,  he  cannot  fail  ere  long  to 
perceive  that  the  relation  of  a  to  #,  which  we  call 
"  heavier,"  is  similar  to  the  relation  of  c  to  d,  which 
we  also  call  "  heavier,"  and  this  again  to  the  relation 
of  e  to/,  called  u  heavier,"  and  so  on  in  a  number  of 
pairs  of  cases.  As  long  as  he  is  dealing  with  partic- 
ular pairs  of  cases  he  is  perceiving  that  they  are 
similar  each  to  each ;  he  is  perceiving  the  similarity 
between  particular  relations.  But  when  it  strikes 
him  that  all  these  cases  are  alike,  that  the  word 
"  heavier,"  which  was  used  in  each  case,  applies  to 
all ;  when,  his  attention  being  drawn  to  this  fact,  he 
consciously  and  intentionally  comprises  them  all  in 
a  general  idea  to  which  the  common  term  "  heavier  " 
is  applied  ;  then  he  not  only  perceives  that  they  are 
similar  each  to  each,  but  conceives  their  general  simi- 
larity ;  then  the  word  "heavier"  no  longer  stands 
only  for  a  particular  relation,  perceived  in  this,  that, 
and  the  other  case,  but  it  stands  for  the  conception 
of  a  common  relationship. 

It  will  be  observed  that  we  apply  the  same  term 
' '  heavier  "  both  to  the  particular  perception  and  to 
the  general  conception.  No  doubt  this  aids  the  child 
in  generalizing  and  in  reaching  the  conception. 
But  it  tends  to  obscure  the  fact  that  the  process  of 
perception  is  distinguishable  from  the  process  of  con- 


ANALYSIS  AND  GENERALIZATION  10fi 

ception.  And  when  once  the  conception  has  been 
reached,  the  word  "heavier"  is  bound  thenceforth 
to  carry  with  it  conceptual  force.  So  that,  after  the 
conception  has  been  reached,  when  a  child  perceives, 
for  example,  that  this  small  volume  of  mercury  in 
one  vessel  is  heavier  than  that  large  volume  of  water 
in  the  other  vessel,  he  may  not  incorrectly  be  said  to 
be  applying  his  general  conception  "  heavier  w  to  a  par- 
ticular case  in  which  it  is  exemplified.  The  sequence 
then  would  seem  to  be,  first,  a  perception  of  heavier  ; 
then  other  similar  perceptions  ;  then  the  perception 
that  these  are  similar,  each  to  each  ;  then  the  concep- 
tion of  their  similarity  and  the  generalization  of  the 
term  "  heavier"  and  the  ideas  it  expresses  ;  finally, 
new  perceptions  of  like  character  carrying  with  them 
a  conceptual  import. 

Note,  then,  how  perception  and  conception  play 
backwards  and  forwards  as  experience  develops  and 
ripens.  We  begin  with  perception,  and  out  of  this 
there  grows,  through  generalization,  conception.  In 
further  acts  of  perception  we  view  the  results  in  their 
bearing  upon  the  conception  we  have  already  reached, 
and  thus  make  this  conception  fuller  and  more  ade- 
quate. Every  step  in  perception  makes  the  concep- 
tion wider  and  richer  ;  and  the  enriched  conception 
renders  further  perception  less  isolated  and  more  full 
of  meaning.  In  conception  we  are  floated  off  from 
particulars  and  rise  into  the  region  of  thought  ;  in 
perception  we  bring  back  our  conceptual  thought 
into  touch  with  practical  experience.  When  once 
the  power  of  generalization  has  been  developed,  we 
are  terribly  apt  to  apply  it  hastily  and  on  inadequate 
grounds    of   perception  ;    it   is   only   by   constantly 


106  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

bringing  it  into  touch  with  further  and  more  exten- 
sive perception  in  practical  experience  that  we  cor- 
rect the  hastiness  and  inadequacy  of  our  generaliza- 
tions and  give  them  serviceable  validity  and  reality. 
It  is  essential  that  the  teacher  should  bear  this  in 
mind,  that  he  may  guide  the  child,  not  only  in  the 
acquisition  of  general  ideas,  but  in  constantly  sub- 
mitting them  to  the  touchstone  of  experience. 

To  the  products  of  the  double  process  of  percep- 
tion and  conception,  as  employed  for  a  common  end, 
we  should  apply  the  word  knowledge.  Sense-expe- 
rience is  not  knowledge,  though  it  presents  us  with 
the  raw  material  from  which  knowledge  may  be  elab- 
orated ;  perception  by  itself  is  not  knowledge,  for 
knowledge  involves  the  generalization  of  particulars, 
the  importing  into  them  of  general  meaning.  Only 
when  perception  and  conception  act  and  react  on 
each  other  in  the  way  we  have  just  been  considering, 
does  knowledge,  properly  so  called,  take  form  and 
shape. 

Special  reference  should  here  be  made  to  quantita- 
tive relations.  Their  generality  would  seem  to  be 
part  of  their  peculiar  nature  ;  and  here,  if  anywhere, 
we  might  expect  conception  to  precede  perception. 
It  may,  indeed,  be  contended  that  while  we  may  per- 
ceive this  piece  of  metal  to  be  heavier  than  that  piece 
of  metal,  prior  to  any  general  conception  of  e '  heavier," 
we  could  not  possibly  perceive  the  one  to  be  twice  as 
heavy  as  the  other,  prior  to  any  general  conception 
of  the  meaning  of  the  word  "  twice"  and  the  idea  it 
conveys.  The  idea  "  twice  "  is,  it  may  be  said,  in  its 
essential  nature  general,  and  would  be  without  mean- 
ing if  applied  to  a  merely  particular  relation  of  this 


ANALYSIS  AND  GENERALIZATION  107 

weight  to  that  weight.  We  may  agree  with  this  con- 
tention to  this  extent — that  it  is  extremely  improb- 
able that  the  child  would  acquire  his  first  percejition 
of  the  relation  of  two  to  one  by  means  of  perceiving 
the  relative  heaviness  of  two  pieces  of  metal.  It  is 
quite  likely,  therefore,  that  when  the  child  perceh 
the  quantitative  relations  of  heaviness,  he  has  already 
reached  the  conception  which  we  symbolize  by  the 
word  "twice."  We  may  not  so  readily  agree,  how- 
ever, to  the  assertion  that  the  child  reaches  a  concep- 
tion of  the  relation  of  one  to  two  before  he  perceives 
the  relation  in  particular  instances.  There  can  be 
little  doubt  that  the  child  reaches  his  conception  of 
"twice"  in  just  the  same  way  as  he  reaches  his  con- 
ception of  "  heavier."  lie  first  senses  the  difference 
of  one  thing  from  two  things.  They  form  different 
impressions  in  sense-experience.  He  then  perceives 
the  difference  as  a  relation  of  a  particular  kind. 
When  he  has  perceived  it  in  a  number  of  particular 
instances,  he  generalizes  and  reaches  a  conception  of 
the  relation.  Then,  and  not  till  then,  the  relation 
has  for  him  a  general  meaning.  It  is  some  time  be- 
fore he  comprises  in  his  generalization  the  relation 
of  two  to  one  as  applied  to  separate  objects,  and  the 
relation  of  two  to  one  as  applied  to  continuous  quan- 
tities. As  I  have  before  mentioned,  I  can  myself 
remember  being  puzzled  in  the  matter.  I  had  not 
at  that  time  generalized  sufficiently  to  reach  the  con- 
ception of  the  relation  of  two  to  one  applying  both  to 

such  cases  as  .   .  to  .    ,    and to  .       But 

from  their  very  varied  and  general  applicability  we 
may  surmise  that  the  perception  of  numerical  rela- 
tions very  early  gives  rise  to  the  conception  of  such  re- 


108      PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

lations.  And,  in  general,  that  conception,  though 
it  never  precedes,  follows  hard  upon  the  heels  of  per- 
ception. As  before  mentioned,  our  words  for  partic- 
ular relations,  as  perceived,  are  the  same  as  those 
which  we  employ  for  the  relations  as  generalized  and 
conceived ;  and  this  must  aid  the  child  in  rapidly 
passing  on  from  perception  to  conception.  The  gen- 
eralization of  experience  in  conception  was  not  al- 
luded to  in  the  last  chapter,  for  the  sufficient  reason 
that  our  object  then  was  to  get  clear  ideas  of  the 
nature  of  particular  relations,  for  which  purpose  it 
was  necessary  to  keep  distinct,  in  description  and  ap- 
prehension, mental  processes  which,  though  they  take 
origin  in  close  association  with  each  other,  are  none 
the  less  themselves  distinct. 

The  relation  of  perception  to  conception  having 
now  been  illustrated,  we  may  pass  on  to  consider  the 
relation  of  the  percept  to  the  concept.  The  term 
** percept"  was  applied  to  an  impression  set  in  a 
background  which  perception  has  rendered  relational. 
When  the  child  is  looking  at  a  plant,  in  which  the  re- 
lation of  root  to  stem,  stem  to  leaves,  and  leaves  to 
flowers,  has  been  perceived,  the  plant  is  no  longer  for 
him  an  impression  of  mere  sense-experience.  It  is 
a  percept  :  the  impression  is  set  in  a  subconscious 
relational  background.  But  when  the  child  has  ex- 
amined a  number  of  plants,  and  has  generalized  his 
perceptions  so  as  to  reach  general  conceptions  of  the  re- 
lationships involved  ;  when  he  has  not  only  analyzed 
some  particular  plant,  so  as  to  distinguish  the  several 
parts,  but  has  analyzed  a  number  of  plants  into  parts 
more  or  less  similar  and  more  or  less  similarly  related  ; 
when  he  has  further  recombined  the  generalized  prod  - 


ANALYSIS  AND  GENERALIZATION  109 

nets  of  his  distinguishing  analysis  into  a  generalized 
plant ; — then  he  reaches  a  concept.  Henceforward, 
when  he  looks  at  a  plant,  he  sees  it  not  merely  as  an 
object  of  sense-experience  ;  not  merely  as  a  percept, 
or  impression  set  in  a  background  of  perceived  rela- 
tions :  he  sees  in  it  a  particular  exemplification  of  his 
general  concept  "  plant."  And  just  as  there  is  a  con- 
stant to  and  fro  play  from  perception  to  conception 
and  back  again  on  perception,  so  is  there  a  constant 
to  and  fro  play  from  the  percept  to  the  concept  and 
back  again  on  the  concept.  Our  concepts,  like  our 
conceptions,  are  terribly  apt  to  be  vitiated  by  hasty 
generalization,  and  also  by  imperfect  analysis  and  in- 
complete synthesis  ;  but  by  constantly  bringing  them 
into  touch  with  perceptual  experience,  we  render 
them  clearer,  more  real,  in  closer  accordance  with 
the  natural  relations  of  the  things  from  which  they 
have  been  floated  off  in  conceptual  thought.  Every 
application  of  the  concept  to  the  touchstone  of  prac- 
tical experience  renders  it  richer  and  more  exact  ; 
and  the  richer  and  more  exact  concept  sheds  its  light 
on  the  percept  and  gives  it  fresh  meaning  for  thought. 
Thus  by  action  and  reaction  our  knowledge  grows  in 
range  and  exactness  and  in  general  meaning. 

The  percept  precedes  the  concept  in  natural  order 
of  genesis  just  as  perception  precedes  conception. 
At  what  exact  time,  in  the  development  of  the  child's 
mind,  concepts  are  formed,  it  is  very  difficult  to  say, 
because  the  same  word  may,  as  we  have  seen,  stand 
for  a  sense-idea,  a  percept,  or  a  concept.  Take  the 
word  "  sheep,"  for  example  :  in  his  earliest  experience 
this  word  is  associated  in  the  little  child 's  mind  with 
the  sense-impression,  and  tends  through  association 


110  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

to  call  up  or  suggest  a  sense-idea.  Probably  this 
sense-idea  is  generic.  If  the  child  has  seen,  as  he 
probably  will  have  seen,  a  number  of  sheep,  each  dif- 
fering from  the  others  in  minute,  unnoticed  points 
of  difference,  the  word  "  sheep  "  is  not  likely  to  sug- 
gest the  sense-idea  of  any  one  of  them,  but  a  com- 
posite sense-idea,  with  the  blended  features  of  a 
number  of  sense-impressions.  Such  a  composite 
sense-idea  is  termed  generic,  to  distinguish  it  from  a 
general  idea.  The  generic  sense-idea  is  not  a  volun- 
tary product.  It  results  from  the  slight  individual 
variations  of  the  impressions  of  which  it  is  represent- 
ative. A  great  number  of  our  sense-ideas  are  thus 
generic.  Hence,  if  we  are  asked  to  visualize  a  sheep, 
the  visual  idea  or  image  does  not  precisely  resemble 
any  one  sheep  we  have  ever  seen,  but  the  blended 
features  of  many  sheep.  The  general  idea,  on  the 
other  hand,  is  the  result  of  the  conscious  and  volun- 
tary exercise  of  the  power  of  generalizing.  No  doubt 
the  natural  tendency  to  form  generic  sense-ideas  is 
utilized  when  we  voluntarily  generalize  ;  just  as  the 
natural  tendency  to  make  the  impression  focal  in  a 
marginal  setting  is  utilized  when  we  voluntarily 
analyze.  In  mental  development  we  are  constantly 
putting  old  powers  to  new  uses. 

The  word  "  sheep  "may,  then,  suggest  to  the  mind 
of  the  little  child  a  generic  sense-idea.  At  a  later 
period,  when  its  eyes,  ears,  mouth,  head,  trunk, 
legs,  and  tail  (if  it  have  any  left)  have  been  indicated, 
and  their  relations  to  each  other  and  to  the  sheep  as 
a  whole,  together  with  the  relation  of  the  sheep  to  the 
grass  and  the  field,  have  been  grasped,  the  word 
<e  sheep  "  may  suggest  to  the  child  a  percept,  an  im- 


ANALYSIS  AND  GENERALIZATION  HI 

pression  or  idea  set  in  a  background  of  perceived 
relations.  Yet  later,  when  the  child  has  begun  to 
generalize  and  to  build  the  general  results  of  the 
analysis  of  many  sheep  into  a  synthetic  concept,  then 
the  word  "  sheep  *  may  symbolize  the  result  of  this 
more  complex  mental  process.  The  word  " sheep" 
(and  the  same  is  true  of  common  nouns  in  general) 
may  stand  for  a  generic  sense-idea,  for  a  percept,  or 
for  a  concept.  And  when  a  child,  who  cannot  as  yet 
tell  us  much,  if  anything,  concerning  his  mental  pro- 
cesses, uses  the  word,  it  is  extremely  difficult  to  say 
what  stage  of  development  his  use  indicates. 

Classification  takes  its  origin  in  combined  analysis 
and  generalization.  In  the  fully-developed  form  to 
which  it  would  be  well  to  restrict  the  word  as  a 
technical  term,  it  is  a  fully  conscious  and  voluntary 
process — a  process  performed  with  the  special  end  of 
classification  in  view.  No  doubt,  there  is  a  prelim- 
inary involuntary  process  which  leads  up  to  the  con- 
sciously intentional  process.  The  child,  who  applies 
the  same  word  u  dog"  to  a  number  of  animals,  dif- 
fering somewhat  markedly  from  each  other,  but 
having  certain  distinctive  features  in  common,  is 
carrying  out  a  process  which  is  preliminary  to  and 
which  leads  up  to  classification.  But  when,  through 
the  application  of  analysis,  the  child  pays  attention 
to  the  number  of  legs  this,  that,  and  the  other 
animal  possesses  ;  the  dog  and  cat  with  four  legs,  the 
bee  and  beetle  with  six  legs,  the  crab,  lobster,  and 
crayfish  with  ten  legs,  man  and  barn-door  fowl  with 
two  legs  ;  and  when  he  has  generalized  the  knowledge 
thus  acquired  ;  he  is  ready  consciously  and  inten- 
tionally  to   classify    the  animals   into   quadrupeds, 


112  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

hexapods,  decapods,  and  bipeds.  The  fully  con- 
scious and  intentional  nature  of  the  process  is  seen  in 
the  fact  that  he  is  able  to  define  the  class  in  which 
he  places  the  objects  classified.  The  class  of  quad- 
rupeds, he  will  say,  comprises  those  animals  which 
have  four  legs,  the  class  of  decapods  those  which 
have  ten  legs.  The  child  should  be  exercised  in 
conscious  classification,  and  in  the  clear  definition  of 
the  classes.  Of  course,  quite  simple  cases  should  at 
first  be  selected.  And  here,  again,  scarcely  any  sub- 
ject can  be  found  which  will  afford  more  satisfactory 
material  for  training  the  child  in  classification  than 
elementary  observational  botany. 

Finally,  we  must  glance  at  the  relation  of  abstraction 
to  the  processes  we  have  been  considering.  We  have 
seen  that  in  the  process  of  analysis  we  make  predomi- 
nant now  one,  now  another,  constituent  element  in 
that  which  we  analyze.  We  give  separate  names  to 
these  predominant  elements  that  we  distinguish.  We 
distinguish,  for  example,  the  yellow  in  the  flower  of 
the  gorse,  and  we  give  it  the  sejjarate  name  "  yellow/' 
The  distinguishable  color  sticks,  so  to  speak,  to  the 
separate  name,  and  enables  us  to  float  it  off  in  thought 
from  the  flower  which  is  yellow.  In  analysis  we  do 
not  get  further  than  distinguishing  the  yellow,  mak- 
ing it  predominant  while  the  other  qualities  of  the 
flower  are  subordinate.  But  the  use  of  the  word 
"yellow"  helps  us  to  do  more  than  to  distinguish  : 
through  its  aid  we  can  to  some  extent  separate  this 
quality  ;  can  talk  about  it,  and  in  some  degree  think 
about  it,  apart  from  the  flower  which  we  perceive  to 
be  yellow.  Such  an  idea  of  quality  separated  off  in 
language,  and  to  some  extent  in  thought,  from  the 


ANALYSIS  AND  GENERALIZATION  113 

other  qualities  with  which  it  is  normally  associated, 
is  an  abstract  idea ;  and  the  process  by  which  we 
thus  separate  it  off  is  termed  abstraction.  When  we 
think,  too,  of  the  space-relation  which  we  term  "  a 
yard,"  apart  from  any  objects  by  which  this  relation 
of  distance  is  exemplified,  we  have  an  abstract  idea 
of  relation. 

Abstraction  and  generalization  usually  go  hand  in 
hand.  But  they  are  not  necessarily  connected.  I 
remember  the  first  flower  of  that  beautiful  orchid, 
the  Dysa  grandijlora,  which  I  plucked  on  the  slopes 
of  Table  Mountain.  I  could  form  to  some  extent  an 
abstract  idea  of  its  peculiar  color,  which  resembles 
no  other  tint  that  I  have  ever  seen.  Such  an 
abstract  idea  would  be  particular,  and  not  gener- 
alized. 

Probably  we  differ  a  good  deal  in  our  power  of 
forming  abstract  ideas.  For  many  of  us  abstract 
ideas  are  remarkably  vague  and  hazy,  and  have  a 
strong  tendency  to  particularize  themselves,  when 
we  try  to  think  clearly  about  them,  in  perceptual 
ideas,  thus  ceasing  to  be  any  longer  abstract.  The 
words  which  stand  for  these  abstract  ideas  are  the 
abstract  nouns,  such  as  size,  sweetness,  color,  edi- 
bility, kindness,  virtue.  But  directly  we  begin  to 
try  and  make  them  clear  to  thought,  a  particular  ex- 
ample is  apt  to  become  focal.  And  in  illustrating 
them  to  the  child  we  are  forced  to  adduce  particular 
examples  ;  we  illustrate  weight  by  handing  the  child 
a  heavy  substance,  color  by  pointing  to  the  red  of  a 
rose,  kindness  by  reference  to  some  kind  action. 
Thus  here,  again,   there  is  a  continual  play  to  and 

fro,  from  conception  to  perception,  and  back  again  to 
8 


114      PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

conception.  In  this  way  do  our  abstract  ideas  become 
floated  off  from  particular  cases  in  which  they  are 
exemplified ;  while  the  particular  cases  themselves 
receive  a  new  import  and  meaning  as  practical  em- 
bodiments of  our  abstract  ideas.  Thus  the  particular 
is  absorbed  into  the  general  body  of  our  knowledge  ; 
while  our  knowledge  keeps  in  close  touch  with  prac- 
tical experience. 


CHAPTER  VI 

DESCRIPTION  AND   EXPLANATION 

There  are  two  little  words  that  are  constantly  on 
the  lips  of  children  :  How  ?  and  Why  ?  The  answer 
we  give  to  the  first  is  a  descriptive  answer  ;  the 
answer  we  give  to  the  second  is  explanatory.  We 
may  describe  how  an  iron  steamship  floats  npon 
water  ;  we  explain  why  it  floats  notwithstanding  its 
enormous  weight,  and  the  fact  that  the  materials  of 
which  it  is  built  are  heavier  than  water.  We  may 
describe  the  commercial  greatness  of  London,  the 
ships  coming  and  going,  the  lines  of  railway  con- 
verging upon  this  centre,  the  goods  imported  and 
exported,  the  varied  occupations  of  its  multitude  of 
workers  ;  we  may  describe  how  the  town  has  grown 
in  wealth  and  size  during  a  long  period  of  years  ; 
but  we  explain  why  it  is  so  great,  and  why  the 
growth  and  accumulation  of  wealth  have  taken  place 
in  London  and  not  elsewhere.  We  may  describe  how 
the  Battle  of  Waterloo  was  fought  and  won  ;  and  we 
may  try  to  explain  why  it  was  fought  and  why  the 
French  were  defeated. 

In  both  description  and  explanation  we  are  deal- 
ing with  relations  ;  but  in  description  the  relations 

are  particular,  while  in  explanation  genera]  relations 

115 


116      PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

are  involved.     Try  and  describe  anything  you  like, 
the  simplest  fact,  the  simplest  object,   the  simplest 
natural  occurrence,  and  see  if  you  can  do  so  without 
reference   to   relations — the  particular  relations  in- 
volved in  what  you  are  describing.     If  one  describes 
the  position  of  an  object,  one  is  stating  its  relations 
in  space  to  other  objects.     If  one  describes  the  ob- 
ject itself,  one  must  refer  to  its  size,  shape,  weight, 
and  so  forth,  all  of  which  involve  relations.     The 
simplest    occurrence    has    its  time-limitations,    and 
cannot  be  adequately  described  without  some  refer- 
ence to  them.     Of  course  we  are  supposing  that  the 
description  has  for  its  purpose  a  suggestion,  through 
the  intervention  of  language,  of  the  real  nature  of 
that  which  is  described.     Even  the  vaguest  descrip- 
tion must  give  some  idea  of  this  nature  ;  and  this  is 
impossible  without  reference  to  the  perceived  rela- 
tions.    The  relations  involved    in    description  are, 
however,  I  repeat,  particular  and  perceptual ;  though 
they  may  be,  and  indeed  usually  are  for  rational  be- 
ings, set  in  a  background  of  generalized  conceptual 
thought.     This  particular  nature  of  the  relations  in- 
volved in  description  may  perhaps   be  questioned. 
That  an  island  is  a  tract  of  land  entirely  surrounded 
by  water  is,  it  may  be  said,  a  perfectly  exact  de- 
scription of  what  an  island  is  in  general.     It  is  not 
a  description  of  a  particular  island,   but  holds  good 
for  any  island.     The  relations  are  generalized.     That 
a  circle  is  a  plane  figure  of  which  all  the  radii  are 
equal,  is  an  exact  description  applicable  to  any  circle. 
The  general  relations  of  all  circles,  not  the  particular 
relations  in  any  one  circle,  are  described.     In  strict- 
ness, however,  we  have,  in  these  cases,  not  descrip- 


DESCRIPTION  AND  EXPLANATION  117 

tions,  properly  so  called,  but  definitions.  We  are 
not  describing  an  island  or  a  circle  ;  we  are  defining 
the  concept  island  or  the  concept  circle.  It  is,  no 
doubt,  merely  a  question  of  the  exact  sense  in  which 
we  are  to  use  the  word  "description."  But  the  ex- 
act and  accurate  use  of  words  begets  exact  and  ac- 
curate modes  of  thought,  which  cannot  be  too  sedu- 
lously cultivated  by  the  teacher.  Distinguishing, 
then,  as  thus  suggested,  between  the  definition  of 
general  concepts  on  the  one  hand,  and  description  on 
the  other,  we  may  say  that  the  hitter  word,  in  its 
more  restricted  sense,  stands  for  a  process  by  which 
particular  relations  are  set  forth  ;  that  it  involves 
perception,  but  does  not  necessarily  involve  more 
than  perception  ;  though,  since  the  language  we  em- 
ploy is  full  of  general  import,  the  description  may 
be,  and  usually  is,  set  in  a  conceptual  background. 

In  explanation,  on  the  other  hand,  not  only  are  we 
always  dealing  with  relations,  but  generalization  and 
the  conceptual  element  are  always  present.  They 
are  necessary  factors  in  the  process.  An  explanation 
can  never  be  wholly  particular  and  confined  to  par- 
ticulars. The  relations  peculiar  and  special  to  ex- 
planation are  those  which  we  condense  in  such  words 
as  "therefore"  and  "because."  They  are  called 
logical  relations.  Let  us  now  see  if  we  can  give  any- 
thing like  a  real  explanation  without  reference  to  the 
general  and  the  conceptual.  Suppose  I  show  a  child 
that  a  cork  floats,  and  accompany  my  demonstration 
by  a  description.  The  child  asks  me  why  it  floats. 
If  I  say,  u  Because  it  stays  at  the  top  of  the  water," 
I  am  not  giving  the  child  any  real  explanation  of  the 
fact.     I  am  merely  describing  the  fact  in  other  words. 


118  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

To  explain  that  it  floats  because  it  floats,  is  no 
explanation  at  all.  If  I  say,  however,  that  it  floats 
because  it  is  lighter  than  water,  I  seem  to  be  giving 
an  explanation  which  is  wholly  particular  ;  in  which 
I  do  not  go  beyond  this  particular  cork  and  that  basin 
of  water.  But  even  this  is  no  true  explanation.  It 
will  not  satisfy  a  quick-witted  child.  He  will  ask 
why  its  being  lighter  than  water  makes  it  float.  "We 
can  only  answer  this  question  by  reference  to  certain 
general  properties  of  bodies  in  accordance  with  which 
they  invariably,  if  free  to  move  among  each  other, 
arrange  themselves,  under  the  influence  of  the  earth's 
attraction,  in  order  of  weight  from  the  greatest  to 
the  least. 

Before  proceeding  further,  let  me  say  that  it  is  of 
great  importance  that  the  teacher  should  clearly  grasp 
the  distinction  between  description  and  explanation, 
and  should  realize  the  fact  of  the  invariable  general 
nature  of  true  explanation.  It  is  one  of  the  distin- 
guishing features  of  good  method  in  exposition  that 
description  should  be  kept  apart  from  explanation. 
Many  people  use  the  two  words  without  discrimi- 
nation. They  say,  "  Let  me  explain  to  you  where 
the  book  may  be  found  in  the  library  ;"  or,  "  I  will 
explain  how  you  are  to  do  such  and  such  a  thing." 
Or  they  say,  "  We  will  now  describe  why  it  is  that  a 
stone  falls  to  the  ground  ;  "  or,  "  Describe  how  it  is 
that  a  balloon  rises  in  the  air."  I  have  already  noted 
that  the  word  "  describe  "  is  often  used  for  "  define." 
We  see  in  examination  papers  such  questions  as  : 
Describe  a  cape,  a  promontory,  an  isthmus  ;  and  so  on. 
The  true  answer  to  this  would  be  to  describe  some 
particular  cape,  promontory,  and  isthmus.     But  what 


DESCRIPTION  AND  EXPLANATION  119 

is  intended  is  :  Define  cape  (not  a  cape),  promontory, 
isthmus  ;  and  so  on. 

Botli  description  and  explanation  presuppose  some 
one  to  whom  or  for  whose  sake  we  describe  and  ex- 
plain. They  refer  to  the  action  of  the  giver.  Un- 
fortunately, we  have  no  two  corresponding  technical 
terms  for  the  answering  action  of  the  receiver.  When 
we  mentally  grasp  either  a  description  or  an  explana- 
tion, we  commonly  say  that  we  understand  it.  It 
may  be  well,  though  much  has  been  written  on  the 
understanding  in  a  technical  sense,  to  employ  this 
word  broadly  and  comprehensively,  as  is  done  in  com- 
mon speech,  and  to  use  technical  terms  to  correspond 
respectively  to  description  and  explanation.  Both 
etymology  and  good  authority  would  seem  to  justify 
the  use  of  the  terms  "  apprehend  "  and  "appre- 
hension "  in  correspondence  to  describe  and  descrip- 
tion, and  the  use  of  "comprehend"  and  "  compre- 
hension "  in  correspondence  to  explain  and  explana- 
tion. One  who  readily  understands  a  description, 
then,  has  good  powers  of  apprehension  ;  one  who 
readily  understands  an  explanation  has  good  powers 
of  comprehension. 

The  next  thing  to  notice  with  regard  to  description 
and  explanation  is  that  they  both  presuppose  analysis, 
while  explanation  necessarily  presupposes  generaliza- 
tion as  well.  We  describe  this  pebble  we  have  found 
on  the  beach  as  oval,  gray,  moderately  heavy, 
tolerably  hard,  and  made  of  limestone.  In  doing  so, 
we  make  predominant  in  succession  the  several  salient 
features  of  the  object,  and  this,  as  we  have  seen,  is 
just  what  is  characteristic  of  the  process  of  analysis. 
In  the  corresponding  act  of  apprehension  we  take 


120  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

these  several  features,  given  to  us,  from  the  nature 
of  the  case,  in  succession,  and  combine  them  by  an 
act  of  synthesis  into  a  whole.  Not  until  the  several 
features  are  thus  combined  can  we  be  said  to  appre- 
hend the  description  as  a  whole.  Suppose  a  child 
asks,  "Why  has  the  pebble  this  rounded  form?" 
We  give  him  as  a  preliminary  answer,  "  Because  it 
has  been  rolled  about  by  the  waves."  And  if  he 
then  asks — as  we  should  encourage  him  to  ask — 
"  But  why  does  the  rolling  of  it  by  the  waves  give  it 
a  rounded  form  ?  "  we  should,  if  opportunity  occurs, 
take  him  down  to  the  beach,  show  him  how  the  waves 
are  rolling  the  pebbles  over  each  other  and  knocking 
them  against  one  another  ;  describe  in  particular 
cases  how  each  stone  has  its  angles  knocked  off  and 
rubbed  down  ;  and  when  he  has  apprehended  this 
description,  get  him  to  comprehend  the  generality  of 
the  result.  All  the  pebbles  are  thus  rounded.  It  is, 
given  sufficient  time,  the  universal  and  uniform  re- 
sult of  this  mode  of  natural  action.  When  he  has 
comprehended  this  generality  of  the  effect  produced, 
we  give  him  the  true  explanation  of  the  rounded 
form  :  "  Because  the  pebble  has  been  rolled  about 
by  the  waves,  and  it  is  found  that  such  rolling  al- 
ways gives  rise  to  a  rounded  form."  This  explanation, 
and  its  due  comprehension,  involve  analysis,  for  we 
are  making  the  shape  predominant  to  the  temporary 
subordination  of  other  features  presented  by  the 
pebble  ;  and  it  presupposes  generalization,  for  we 
explain  it  by  showing  that  it  is  a  particular  example 
of  the  action  of  a  general  law. 

Let  us  take  another  example  to  show  how  explana- 
tion is  the  reference  of  the  particular  to  the  general. 


DESCRIPTION  AND  EXPLANATION  121 

A  good  many  years  ago,  when  I  was  a  young  student, 
a  clever  lad  in  Cornwall  asked  me  the  old  question, 
"  Why  does  a  stone  fall  to  the  ground  ?  "  Not  wish- 
ing to  put  him  off  with  the  long-sounding  words, 
"  Universal  gravitation,"  I  replied,  "  Because  it  is 
heavy."  "But  a  feather  is  not  heavy  and  yet  it  falls 
to  the  ground,"  was  the  prompt  answer.  I  replied 
that  the  feather  was  relatively  heavier  than  the  air. 
The  lad  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  said, 
"  That's  just  one  of  the  things  I  want  to  know  :  does 
the  air  fall  to  the  ground  and  collect  there  like  water 
in  a  pond,  only  we  cannot  see  it  because  we  are  in  it 
and  it  is  invisible  ?':  I  saw  that  this  lad's  powers  of 
comprehension  were  fully  equal  to  the  occasion,  and 
explained  the  whole  matter  as  best  I  could.  I  told 
him  that  he  was  quite  right  in  supposing  that  the 
air,  like  the  stone  and  the  feather,  was  attracted  by 
the  earth  ;  I  pointed  out  the  universality  of  gravi- 
tation as  a  law  of  nature  ;  and  then  reverting  to  his 
first  question,  I  said,  "  You  now  see  that  we  explain 
the  fall  of  the  stone  as  a  particular  case  of  the  action 
of  a  law  that  is  universal  in  its  generality. n  He  was 
again  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  asked,  "But 
what  makes  the  earth  attract  it  after  all  ?"  I 
laughed,  and  said,  "You're  a  philosopher  !  Nobody 
can  answer  that  question.  Perhaps  you  may  live  to 
find  it  out,  or  at  any  rate  to  understand  the  solution 
when  it  comes,  as  come  it  may." 

The  explanation  of  the  fall  of  a  stone  by  reference 
to  universal  gravitation  is  a  valid  explanation  ;  but 
the  explanation  is  partial  and  incomplete,  not  final 
and  ultimate.  We  cannot  give  a  final  and  ultimate 
explanation  of  any  of  the  phenomena  of  nature.     We 


122  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

explain  this,  that,  or  the  other  natural  occurrence  by 
a  reference  from  the  particular  to  the  general ;  but 
if  we  are  asked,  "  Why  are  these  general  laws  what 
we  find  them  to  be  ?"  we  can  only  reply,  "Because 
that  is  how  nature  is  constituted. "  And  if  we  are 
further  pressed  with  the  question,  "  But  why  is 
nature  thus  constituted?"  we  can  only,  if  we  are 
honest,  reply  that  we  do  not  know.  Ultimate  ex- 
planations are  beyond  our  reach. 

Remembering,  then,  that  by  explanation  is  meant 
the  reference  of  the  particulars,  which  we  seek  to  ex- 
plain, to  such  generalizations  as  are  within  the  reach 
of  our  mental  grasp,  we  may  next  note  that  the  state- 
ments of  these  generalizations  are  what  we  term 
natural  laws.  Such  statements  are  of  the  nature  of 
definitions.  We  define  the  law  of  gravitation,  for 
example,  as  follows :  That  attraction  of  any  two 
natural  bodies  for  each  other  which  is  termed  gravi- 
tation is  directly  proportional  to  the  sum  of  their 
masses,  and  inversely  proportional  to  the  distance  of 
their  centres  of  gravity.  The  generalization  thus  ac- 
curately defined  forms  the  standard  to  which  we  refer 
the  particulars  we  wish  to  explain  by  its  means.  It 
is  a  generalized  summary  of  a  great  number  of  partic- 
ular observations  ;  but  it  contains  something  more  ; 
it  contains  the  assumption  that  this  generalization 
from  a  great,  but  still  necessarily  limited,  number  of 
observations  is  universally  true.  That  assumption 
we  can  never  conclusively  prove  ;  we  rest  our  as- 
surance of  its  truth  on  the  fact  that  no  single  excep- 
tion to  its  validity  has  been  established  on  the  basis 
of  exact  observation.  Our  attitude  towards  it  may 
therefore  be  thus  expressed  :  We  have  found  it  to 


DESCRIPTION  AND  EXPLANATION  123 

hold  good  in  a  great  number  of  particular  cases,  and 
shall  assume  that  it  holds  good  in  all  cases,  until 
evidence  to  the  contrary  is  forthcoming.  Our  whole 
process  of  explanation  involves  this  assumption.  We 
explain  a  new  instance  of  gravitational  attraction  by 
reference  to  a  generalization  from  old  instances  ;  and 
in  doing  so  we  must  assume  that  what  holds  good  for 
the  old  instances  also  holds  good  for  the  new  instance. 
As  this  is  true  of  all  explanation,  from  the  simplest 
to  the  most  recondite,  the  teacher,  who  has  many 
things  to  explain,  should  clearly  grasp  the  basis  upon 
which  his  procedure  rests. 

It  is  obvious  that  adequate  description  should  always 
be  made  the  precursor  to  explanation.  Not  to  do  so 
is  to  proceed  on  the  method,  not  of  education,  but 
of  cramming.  The  explanation  must  never  be  al- 
lowed to  be  a  mere  statement  committed  to  memory, 
and  remembered,  if  remembered  at  all,  through  the 
association  by  contiguity  of  its  constituent  parts. 
We  must  always  bear  in  mind  that  the  comprehension 
of  the  learner  is  to  meet  and  embrace  the  ex])lana- 
tion  of  the  teacher;  that  comprehension  involves 
generalization  ;  and  that  generalization  is  impossible 
unless  the  particulars  which  form  its  raw  material  be 
supplied.  One  of  the  difficulties  the  teacher  has  to 
face — I  assume  that  he  knows  the  subject  he  pro- 
fesses to  teach — is  that  he  possesses  a  background  of 
knowledge  which  is  absent  from  the  mind  of  his 
pupils.  The  explanation  for  him  is  supported  by  a 
body  of  evidence  which  he  could  at  any  moment 
summon  from  the  storehouse  of  memoir,  and  the  net 
result  of  which  is  present  in  the  background  of  his 
consciousness.     The   explanation   he  gives  is  tin  re- 


124      PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

fore,  for  him,  real  and  valid,  because  it  is  the  result 
of  generalization  from  all  these  particulars.  He 
gives  it  to  his  pupils,  and  expects  it  to  be  real  for 
them.  But  it  will  not  be  real  unless  he  have  stored 
the  memory  of  those  whom  he  teaches  with  a 
sufficient  body  of  evidence,  the  net  result  of  which  is 
present  in  the  background  of  their  consciousness. 
One  of  the  commonest  faults  in  exposition  is  the 
putting  forward  of  explanations  before  an  adequate 
preparation  in  description  has  been  systematically 
afforded. 

It  must  be  remembered,  too,  that  the  adequate  ap- 
prehension of  what  is  described  with  sufficient  fulness 
of  detail,  is  after  all  only  a  second-hand  way  of  get- 
ting at  the  facts.  Second-hand  information,  to  be 
of  real  value  in  mental  development,  must  have  a 
first-hand  basis  in  practical  experience.  Hence,  if 
description  is  a  necessary  precursor  to  explanation,  so 
too  is  a  training  in  individual  observation  a  necessary 
accompaniment  to  description,  however  careful  and 
adequate.  We  can  only  rightly  apprehend  and,  as 
we  say,  fully  realize,  a  description  of  that  for  which 
individual  observation  has  paved  the  way,  by  affording 
to  consciousness  sense-impressions  to  be  utilized  re- 
presentatively as  sense-ideas.  Descriptive  geology, 
for  example,  deals  with  the  nature,  mode  of  arrange- 
ment, and  fossil  or  mineral  contents  of  the  strata 
which  are  exposed  on  the  surface  of  the  earth,  and 
with  the  manner  in  which  these  strata  are  worn  away 
by  rain  and  rivers  and  the  waves  of  the  sea.  Now,  if 
the  student  makes  himself  practically  acquainted  with 
the  strata  in  any  district  in  which  they  are  well  ex- 
posed,   if  he  examines  them  along  any  stretch  of 


DESCRIPTION  AND  EXPLANATION  125 

varied  coast-line,  if  in  actual  contact  with  nature  he 
perceives  for  himself  the  relations  of  the  strata  in  bay 
and  promontory,  in  hill  and  valley ;  if,  further,  he 
have  an  opportunity  of  examining  any  volcanic 
district  and  the  relation  therein  of  beds  and  dykes 
of  lava  to  accumulations  of  ashy  debris ;  and  if  he 
become  practically  acquainted  with  a  district  in 
which,  as  in  Dartmoor,  great  bosses  of  granite  or 
other  plutonic  rock  rise  up  from  amid  surrounding 
strata  ;  if  he  have  thus  laid  the  foundations  in  practical 
observation,  and  stored  his  mind  with  sense-images 
and  with  perceptual  ideas,  then  he  is  in  a  position  to 
apprehend  any  geological  description,  whether  the 
district  described  be  in  Africa,  Asia,  or  America. 
Without  some  such  preparation  he  will  have  no  re- 
alizing apprehension  of  descriptions,  no  matter  how 
vivid,  since  he  will  have  no  first-hand  experience 
in  the  light  of  which  to  interpret  that  which  he  has 
not  seen  for  himself,  but  which  is  put  before  him 
through  the  description  of  another. 

It  is  clear  from  what  has  just  been  said  that 
geology  is  not  a  subject  which,  unless  in  exceptional 
circumstances,  can  be  extensively  utilized  in  afford- 
ing a  training  in  observation  as  preparatory  to  and 
associated  with  the  apprehension  of  description. 
There  is  no  subject  which,  for  this  purpose,  is  more 
convenient  than  elementary,  observational,  and  de- 
scriptive botany.  The  boy  or  girl  who  has  carefully 
observed,  under  guidance,  the  structure  of  a  few 
flowers,  is  in  a  position  to  apprehend  the  description 
of  a  great  number  of  flowers.  Material  for  the  pur- 
pose is  readily  obtainable.  The  relations  to  be  per- 
ceived do  not  present  great  difficulties  ;  and  the  parts 


126  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

can  be  dissected  without  that  messiness  which  makes 
zoological  dissection  insufferably  distasteful  to  many- 
people.  Furthermore,  such  observation  and  the  ap- 
prehension of  description  will  lend  a  fresh  charm  to 
field  and  hedgerow  and  garden,  and  will  lead  up  to 
the  comprehension  of  generalizations  of  wide  range 
and  of  deep  interest.  For  in  every  stage  of  mental 
development,  observation,  the  apprehension  of  de- 
scription, and  the  comprehension  of  explanation 
should  be  made  continually  to  play  into  each  other's 
hands.  If  observation  leads  up  to  apprehension,  this 
faculty  in  return  quickens  observation  ;  if  apprehen- 
sion is  the  necessary  precursor  to  comprehension, 
this  faculty  gives  a  new  meaning  to  all  that  is  ap- 
prehended, and  a  new  zest  to  individual  observation. 
The  teacher  who  realizes  this  will  so  arrange  his 
course  of  instruction  as  to  afford  opportunities  for 
the  interaction  of  the  several  faculties  employed. 

To  observation  in  certain  subjects  we  are  able  to 
add  experiment.  In  experiment  we  employ  special 
means  to  facilitate  the  observation  of  particular 
phenomena.  It  is  a  means  of  analysis  by  which  the 
phenomena  we  wish  to  observe  are,  by  artificial 
methods,  rendered  predominant  and  brought  within 
easy  reach  of  perception.  There  are  certain  phenom- 
ena of  nature  which,  by  reason  of  their  magnitude, 
or  by  reason  of  their  minuteness,  by  reason  of  the 
slow  sweep  of  their  rhythm,  or  by  reason  of  the  ex- 
treme quickness  of  their  rhythm,  do  not  readily  come 
within  the  range  of  our  perception.  These  may  be 
illustrated  by  experimental  methods.  Other  phenom- 
ena, by  reason  of  their  intricacy  under  natural  con- 
ditions,   are   difficult    of   observation.     Experiment 


DESCRIPTION  AND  EXPLANATION  127 

gets  rid  of  the  disturbing  factors,  brings  out  into 
artificial  prominence  that  which  we  wish  to  study, 
and  thus  renders  the  exact  observation  of  this  pre- 
dominant factor  less  difficult. 

Elementary  physics  and  very  elementary  chemistry 
are,  of  all  subjects  which  deal  with  natural  phe- 
nomena, the  best  for  the  purpose  of  affording  a  train- 
ing in  the  experimental  method.  The  experiments 
should,  so  far  as  possible,  be  from  the  first  exact  and 
quantitative,  so  as  to  afford  a  training  in  the  perception 
of  numerical  and  quantitative  relations.  Let  us  con- 
sider a  simple  example  in  some  detail,  for  the  purpose 
of  illustration.  We  take  a  lath  of  boxwood,  two  feet 
long,  to  act  as  a  lever.  Across  the  middle  on  the 
lower  side  is  a  notch  which  fits  on  to  a  triangular  ful- 
crum. The  upper  surface  of  the  lever  is  marked 
with  a  scale  of  inches,  extending  on  either  side  of  the 
middle  line  above  the  fulcrum,  and  numbered  from 
this  line  outwards.  We  have  also  a  box  of  weights — 
10,  20,  30,  50,  60,  and  100  grains.  We  now  make 
experiments  in  balancing  the  weights  on  the  lever. 
We  take  first  the  10  gr.  and  the  20  gr.  weights. 
Placing  the  10  gr.  at  the  end  of  the  lever  on  one  side, 
where  it  is  marked  12,  we  at  first  put  the  20  gr. 
weight  in  the  same  position  on  the  other  side.  The 
20  gr.  weight  outbalances  the  10  gr.  We  shift  it 
along  towards  the  fulcrum,  and  find  that,  when  it 
just  balances  the  10  gr.,  it  is  exactly  over  the  6  inch 
mark — that  is  to  say,  it  is  half  the  distance  from  the 
fulcrum  of  the  10  gr.  weight.  We  then  put  the  30 
gr.  at  the  end  over  the  12  inch  mark  ;  and,  taking 
the  60  gr.  weight,  shift  it  too  along  the  lever.  It 
balances  the  30  gr.  so  soon  as  it  is  over  the  6  inch 


128      PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

mark.  So  that  in  each  case  the  double  weight  is  at 
half  distance.  We  at  once  try  the  100  gr.  and  50  gr. 
weights  in  a  similar  manner,  and  see  that  they  ex- 
emplify the  same  rule.  Then  we  put  the  30  gr.  at 
distance  10  and  the  60  gr.  at  distance  5,  and  again 
find  that  they  balance.  We  try  the  experiment  in  a 
number  of  ways ;  and,  finding  the  rule  always  holds 
good,  we  lead  the  pupil  on  to  the  generalization — 
The  double  weight  must  always  be  placed  at  half  the 
distance.  When  this  has  been  comprehended,  we 
may  put  the  experiment  on  one  side,  and  describe 
that  if  we  put  the  10  gr.  weight  at  the  end  of  the 
lever,  over  the  12  inch  mark,  we  must  place  the  30  gr. 
weight  over  the  4  inch  mark  on  the  opposite  side. 
When  the  description  is  apprehended,  we  may  show 
the  experiment,  and  allow  observation  to  confirm 
the  description.  By  further  descriptions,  confirmed 
in  each  case  by  observation,  we  may  lead  up  to  the 
wider  generalization  (if  the  pupils  are  at  a  sufficiently 
advanced  stage  to  comprehend  it) — That  the  distance 
is  always  inversely  proportional  to  the  weight,  exem- 
plifying the  generalization  by  describing  how  3  times 
the  weight  must  be  placed  at  ^  of  the  distance  ;  4 
times  the  weight  at  \  of  the  distance  ;  and  bringing 
it  home  to  observation  by  placing  the  10  gr.  at  one 
end  over  the  12  inch  mark,  and  the  60  gr.,  which  is 
6  times  the  weight,  over  the  2  inch  mark,  which  is  % 
the  distance,  and  showing  that  they  balance.  With 
more  advanced  pupils  it  may  be  shown,  by  balancing 
the  lever  on  a  piece  of  string  instead  of  a  fulcrum, 
that  when  the  weights  balance  they  swing  evenly 
round  the  central  point,  the  smaller  weight  perform- 
ing the  larger  circle,  the  greater  weight  a  less  circle. 


DESCRIPTION  AND  EXPLANATION  1^9 

This  central  point  is  called  the  common  centre  of 
mass  of  the  system.  And  in  this  way  the  experiment 
may  be  made  to  illustrate  the  fact,  that  the  earth 
and  moon  are  swinging  round  their  common  centre 
of  mass,  which,  since  the  mass  of  the  earth  is  80 
times  that  of  the  moon,  is  80  times  nearer  to  the 
centre  of  the  earth  than  to  the  centre  of  the  moon. 

It  is  not  infrequently  the  case  that  when  certain 
natural  phenomena  have  been  carefully  observed  and 
accurately  described,  two  or  more  alternative  expla- 
nations are  possible.  Such  alternative  explanations 
are  termed  hypotheses.  To  decide  between  them,  we 
need  what  is  termed  a  crucial  observation  or  experi- 
ment. We  see,  for  example,  the  sun,  moon,  stars, 
and  planets  rise  in  the  east,  sweep  across  the  heavens, 
and  set  in  the  west.  Now,  it  is  a  generalization 
from  a  great  number  of  observations,  that  the  ap- 
parent movement  of  a  body  external  to  ourselves  may 
be  due  (1)  to  the  actual  movement  of  that  body 
while  we  are  stationary,  or  (2)  to  our  own  actual  move- 
ment, the  external  body  being  stationary,  or  (3)  to  the 
difference  between  its  movement  and  our  own.  The 
apparent  diurnal  movements  of  the  sun,  moon,  and 
stars  may  be  due,  then,  to  the  rotation  of  the  heavens 
round  the  earth,  or  to  the  rotation  of  the  earth,  or  to 
a  difference  between  the  rotation  of  the  heavens  and 
that  of  the  earth.  These  are  the  alternative  hypoth- 
eses on  which  the  observed  phenomena  may  be  ex- 
plained. Iu  times  gone  by  the  generally  accepted 
hypothesis  was  that  the  heavens  rotated  around  the 
earth.  Now.  as  we  all  know,  the  accepted  hypothesis 
is  that  the  earth  rotates  on   its  axis  once  in  about 

twenty-four  hours.  What  has  convinced  us  that  this  is 
8 


130      PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

the  true  explanation  ?    What  was  the  crucial  observa- 
tion or  experiment  ? 

Suppose  we  set  a  pendulum  swinging  quite  freely. 
Then  the  direction  of  the  plane  of  its  swing  will  re- 
main unaltered  unless  something  interferes  with  it 
from  without.  Why  should  it  alter  ?  There  is  no 
generalization  which  enables  us  to  answer  this 
question  except  by  saying  that  there  is  no  reason  why  it 
should  alter  ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  there  is  a  very 
wide  generalization  to  the  effect  that  bodies  remain 
in  their  state  of  rest  or  of  uniform  motion,  except  in 
so  far  as  they  are  influenced  from  without.  Let  us, 
however,  put  the  matter  to  the  test  of  experiment. 
Set  a  pendulum  (a  weight  at  the  end  of  a  fine  thread 
will  serve  the  purpose)  swinging  in  a  cage  or  in  a 
pail.  Now,  while  it  is  swinging,  turn  the  cage  or  the 
pail  round,  making  the  point  from  which  the  weight 
is  suspended  the  axis  of  its  rotation.  You  will  find 
that  the  plane  of  swing  remains  unaltered  in  direction. 
Thus  we  obtain  experimental  proof  of  the  constancy 
of  the  plane  of  oscillation.  We  are  now  in  a  position 
to  apply  experiment  to  our  special  problem.  A  long 
heavy  pendulum  is  suspended  from  a  lofty  ceiling, 
with  special  precautions  to  secure  perfect  freedom  of 
oscillation  ;  if  now  this  be  set  a-swinging  at  12  noon, 
and  the  direction  of  its  swing  be  carefully  noted,  by 
stretching  a  string,  for  example,  beneath  and  parallel 
with  the  swinging-point ;  and  if,  after  leaving  it  for 
three  hours,  the  pendulum  and  the  string  be  again 
observed,  it  will  be  found  that  the  point  is  no  longer 
oscillating  parallel  with  the  string,  but  across  it  at  an 
angle  the  precise  value  of  which  depends  on  the  lati- 
tude of  the  place.     Since,  then,  the  plane  of  os cilia- 


DESCRIPTION  AND  EXPLANATION  131 

tion  of  the  pendulum  has  remained  unaltered,  it  must 
be  the  string  that  has  moved.  But  the  string  was  fixed 
to  the  floor,  and  the  floor  to  the  solid  earth.  Hence  it 
is  the  earth  that  has  twisted  round.  And  it  can  be 
shown  that  the  amount  of  twisting  is  just  that  which 
should  be  produced  if  the  earth  is  rotating  once  on 
its  axis  in  twenty-four  hours.  This  was  the  great 
French  physicist  Foucault's  crucial  experiment. 
There  are  others ;  but  this  suffices  for  purposes  of 
illustration. 

The  validity  of  an  explanation  may  thus  be  estab- 
lished by  means  of  a  crucial  experiment  or  observa- 
tion. Let  us  now  pass  on  to  consider  the  special  form 
in  which  an  explanation,  so  established,  may  be  justi- 
fied at  the  bar  of  reason.  This  will  enable  us  to  see 
the  nature  of  those  relations  which  we  termed  the 
logical  relations. 

We  have  seen  that  explanation  consists  in  a  refer- 
ence from  the  particular  to  the  general.  We  explain, 
to  take  a  homely  illustration,  the  mauled  condition  of 
the  fish  on  our  breakfast-table,  by  saying  that  the  cat 
had  been  there,  and  confirm  our  explanation  by  the 
crucial  observation  that  one  of  her  footprints  is  im- 
pressed on  the  tablecloth.  But  this  would  be  no  ex- 
planation, though  it  might  be  a  description  of  what 
had  taken  place,  if  such  thievislmess  were  not  a  gen- 
eral characteristic  of  ill-trained  cats.  Suppose  that 
a  particular  phenomenon,  concerning  which  we  are 
impelled  to  ask  the  question  "Why  ?  M  is  altogether 
isolated,  and  cannot  be  brought  into  touch  with  any 
known  generalizations  ;  then  concerning  it  we  can 
only  say  that  we  are  at  present  unable  to  explain  it. 
The  most  we  can  do  is  to  describe  the  facts,  and  hope 


132  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

that  they  may  be  explained  hereafter  by  the  discovery 
of  their  relations  to  some  of  the  generalizations  which 
form  part  of  the  body  of  assured  knowledge. 

Explanation,  then,  being  the  reference  of  the  partic- 
ular to  the  general,  it  becomes  our  duty  to  set  forth 
the  nature  of  the  generalization  and  the  relation  of 
the  particular  thereto  in  the  clearest  and  most  effect- 
ive manner,  in  order  that  the  grounds  of  our  refer- 
ence may  be  made  apparent  and  our  explanation  justi- 
fied to  reason.  This  is  done  by  means  of  a  series  of 
propositions  arranged  in  a  special  way,  or  in  special 
ways.  A  proposition  is  a  direct  statement  arranged 
in  the  clearest  and  most  perspicuous  form.  Gram- 
matically, the  proposition  consists  of  subject  and  pred- 
icate, together  with  certain  words  or  phrases  which 
qualify  or  amplify  the  one  or  the  other.  And  here  it 
may  incidentally  be  said  that  grammatical  analysis  is 
of  the  utmost  service  in  enabling  the  pupil  to  per- 
ceive the  relations  of  words  in  a  proposition,  these  re- 
lations being  the  reflection  in  language  of  those  which 
are  observable  in  that  experience  which  language 
seeks  to  describe.  The  subject  of  the  proposition, 
which,  as  before  noted,  must  be  carefully  distin- 
guished from  the  subject  of  consciousness,  indicates 
that  of  which  something  is  to  be  predicated,  or  that 
concerning  which  the  proposition  is  to  be  made.  In 
logic  the  subject  and  predicate  are  spoken  of  as  the 
terms  of  the  proposition,  and  between  the  terms  is 
'  placed  the  copula.  In  affirmative  propositions  the 
copula  is  the  word  ' e is  "  or  the  word  ' '  are  ";  and  it 
is  customary  to  bring  any  proposition  which  is  to  be 
employed  in  logic  into  such  a  form  as  to  give  the 
copula  its  distinctive  position.     Instead  of  saying, 


DESCRIPTION  AND  EXPLANATION  133 

u  Fish  live  in  water/'  we  should,  in  logic,  say,  ' '  Fish 
are  aquatic  animals."  Thus  we  have  (1)  the  subject 
of  which  an  assertion  is  made  ;  (2)  the  predicate  in- 
dicating what  is  asserted  ;  and  (3)  the  copula  sym- 
bolizing the  act  of  assertion.  It  is  sometimes  said 
that  the  copula  links  together  the  terms  of  the  prop- 
osition. And  this  is  in  a  sense  true  ;  the  copula 
does  link  the  terms  in  the  written  or  spoken  proposi- 
tion. But  if  we  regard  the  proposition  as  expressive 
of  a  judgment,  we  must  be  careful  to  remember  that 
the  judgment  is  one  and  indivisible,  and  that  the 
terms  are  reached  by  analyzing  it.  Hence  the  copula 
is  to  be  taken  as  the  symbol  of  the  unity  of  judgment 
in  the  midst  of  the  diversity  of  terms  which  analysis 
serves  to  distinguish. 

In  the  logical  syllogism  three  propositions,  contain- 
ing three,  and  only  three,  terms  are  brought  into  re- 
lation under  certain  formal  rules.  These  rules  we 
cannot  here  attempt  to  discuss  ;  nor  can  we  consider 
the  different  kinds,  or  figures,  of  syllogism.  It  must 
suffice  to  give  a  simple  example  in  the  first  figure. 
Take  the  syllogism — 

All  rodents  have  chisel-teeth  ; 

The  mouse  is  a  rodent  ; 
Therefore  the  mouse  has  chisel-teeth. 
The  final  proposition  is  called  the  conclusion,  and  the 
other  two  from  which  it  is  derived  are  called  the 
premises.  The  predicate  of  the  conclusion  is  spoken 
of  as  the  major  term,  the  subject  of  the  conclusion 
being  called  the  minor  term,  while  the  third  term 
which  forms  the  subject  of  the  first  proposition,  and 
the  predicate  of  the  second,  is  known  as  the  middle 
term.     The  premise  which  contains  the  major  and 


134  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

middle  terms  is  called  them  ajor  premise  ;  that  which 
contains  the  minor  and  middle  terms,  the  minor  prem- 
ise. It  is  convenient  to  express  the  syllogism  in  its 
most  generalized  form  by  nsing  symbols  for  its  terms. 
Thus,  denoting  the  major  term  by  P  (because  it  is 
the  predicate  of  the  conclusion),  the  minor  term  by 
S  (as  subject  of  the  conclusion),  and  the  middle  term 
by  M,  and  representing  the  copula  by  .  ,  we  have 
the  following  generalized  form  of  such  a  syllogism  in 
the  first  figure  of  formal  logic — 

M  .  P; 
S  .  M; 
.-.     S  .  P. 

S .  may  represent  a  concrete  object  and  be  expressed 
by  the  indicating  word  "  this."     Thus — 
Hive-bees  are  stinging  insects  ; 
This  is  a  hive-bee ; 
Therefore  this  is  a  stinging  insect. 

The  educational  value  of  elementary  logic,  like 
that  of  the  analysis  of  sentences,  consists  in  the  dis- 
cipline it  affords.  It  should  be  emjDloyed  as  an  ex- 
ercise, first,  in  converting  assertions,  made  in  the 
varied  modes  of  literary  or  scientific  expression, 
into  propositions  in  logical  form ;  and,  secondly, 
in  throwing  into  syllogistic  figure  the  conclusions 
reached  by  inference.  e '  You  obtain  the  most  vital 
idea  of  inference/'  says  Mr.  Bosanquet,  "by  starting 
from  the  conclusion  as  a  suggestion,  or  even  as  an 
observation,  and  asking  yourself  how  it  is  proved  or 
explained.  Take  the  observation,  '  The  tide  at  new 
and  full  moon  is  exceptionally  high/  In  scientific 
inference  this  is  filled  out  by  a  middle  term.  Thus 
the  judgment  pulls  out  like  a  telescope,  exhibiting 


DESCRIPTION  AND  EXPLANATION  135 

fresh  parts  within  it,  as  it  passes  into  inference. 
'  The  tide  at  new  and  full  moon,  being  at  these  times 
the  lunar  tide  plus  the  solar  tide,  is  exceptionally 
high/  This  is  the  sort  of  inference  which  is  really 
commonest  in  science." 

Now,  the  validity  of  the  syllogism  and  of  the  in- 
ductive process  by  which  its  major  premise  is  readied, 
and  the  validity  of  the  whole  process  of  inference 
which  is  therein  stated  in  logical  form,  rests  upon 
the  assumption  of  the  uniformity  of  nature — an  as- 
sumption which  does  but  universalize  the  generaliza- 
tions of  exjoerience.  It  is  quite  clear  that  if  the 
operations  of  nature  are  not  uniform  in  the  matter 
of  hive-bees,  I  can  neither  assert  with  any  confidence 
that  all  hive-bees  sting,  nor  have  any  assurance  that 
this  hive-bee  stings,  since  it  may  happen  to  be  one 
of  the  exceptions  to  uniformity.  Secondly,  this 
validity  rests  upon  the  uniformity  of  thought.  If 
our  concept  hive-bee  is  not  uniform  but  fluctuating, 
if  it  have  one  meaning  in  the  major  premise  and 
another  in  the  minor  premise,  there  will  be  no  cer- 
tainty in  the  conclusion.  Thirdly,  this  validity  rests 
upon  the  uniformity  of  language,  or  of  the  terms  in 
which  we  express  our  thought.  If  the  word  "hive- 
bee  "  be  not  uniformly  associated  with  one  concept, 
it  may  mean  one  thing  in  the  major  premise,  and 
another  in  the  minor  premise,  whereby  our  conclusion 
loses  all  certainty.  Un  iformity  of  nature,  uniformity 
of  thought,  and  uniformity  of  terminology;  these 
form  the  tripod  upon  whirl/  the  "  therefore  "  is  firmly 
supported.  The  uniformity  of  nature  is  beyond  our 
control  :  it  is  through  failure  in  preserving  uni- 
formity of  thought  or  of  terminology  that  we  are 


136  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

apt  to  go  wrong  in  reasoning.  If.  for  example,  we 
use  the  word  "  hive-bee"  in  the  major  premise  as  in- 
clusive of  working-bees,  but  in  the  minor  premise  as 
inclusive  of  the  whole  colony  of  bees  in  a  hive,  queen, 
drones,  and  workers,  then  our  conclusion  may  or 
may  not  be  true.  If  it  is  a  queen  or  a  working-bee,  it 
stings ;  if  it  is  a  drone,  it  does  not  sting.  Such 
failures  in  preserving  the  uniformity  of  our  thought 
or  of  its  expression  are  the  source  of  what  are  termed 
fallacies.  One  of  the  main  advantages  of  the  syl- 
logistic method  of  statement  is  that  it  enables  us 
more  readily  to  detect  such  fallacies.  If  we  say — 
All  laws  are  enactments  ; 
Universal  gravitation  is  a  law  ; 

Therefore  universal  gravitation  is  an  enactment ; 
our  reasoning  involves  a  fallacy.  For  we  are  using 
the  word  law  in  two  different  senses,  or  for  two  dif- 
ferent concepts.  Human  laws — laws  in  the  legal  and 
constitutional  sense — are  enactments  ;  but  natural 
laws  are  generalizations  from  experience. 

"We  are  now  in  a  position  to  define  the  terms  reason 
and  reasoning.  To  reason  is  to  pass  from  proposition 
to  proposition  (or  their  equivalents  in  thought)  with 
definite  consciousness  of  the  logical  relations  involved. 
It  presupposes  a  conception  of  the  logical  relation 
expressed  in  such  words  as  "therefore"  and  "be- 
cause," and  a  perception  of  its  application  in  partic- 
ular cases.  Eeason  may  thus  be  concisely  defined 
as  the  faculty  hy  which  we  conceive  and  perceive  there- 
fore. To  jump  to  conclusions,  be  it  never  so  ac- 
curately, is  not  to  reason  ;  to  profit  by  the  associa- 
tion of  sense-experience,  be  it  never  so  cleverly,  is 
not  to  reason.     Either  of  these  processes  may  be  per- 


DESCRIPTION  AND  EXPLANATION  137 

formed  without  any  conception  or  perception  of  the 
logical  relation,  as  such.  But  when  once  the  child 
can  conceive  and  perceive  "  therefore/'  he  has  be- 
come a  rational  being. 


CHAPTER  VII 

MENTAL  DEVELOPMENT 

We  have  been  dealing  in  the  last  five  chapters 
with  some  of  the  factors  of  mental  development  on 
its  cognitive  side,  which  comprises  those  conscions 
activities  which  lead  up  to  intellectual  knowledge. 
Let  us  now  look  at  mental  development  as  a  whole, 
reviewing  briefly  what  we  have  learnt  concerning  the 
cognitive  aspect  of  our  conscious  life,  and  introduc- 
ing some  reference  to  the  emotions  and  the  will. 

The  first  thing  to  notice  is  that  mental  develop- 
ment is  in  many  respects  analogous  to  bodily  develop- 
ment. Each  is  a  process  of  natural  growth.  Our 
minds  assimilate  the  results  of  our  experience  just 
as  our  bodies  assimilate  the  products  of  digestion. 
In  each  case  we  are  presented  with  the  raw  materials 
which  may  be  elaborated  into  the  corporeal  body  on 
the  one  hand,  or  into  the  mind  and  body  of  conscious- 
ness on  the  other  hand.  The  body  is,  however,  a 
visible,  tangible  entity ;  while  the  mind  is  in  its 
essential  nature  invisible  and  intangible.  The  body  is 
actually  existent  at  any  moment  in  its  entirety  ;  the 
mind  has,  for  psychology,  only  a  potential  existence 
in  its  entirety.     What  is  actually  existent  beyond  all 

question  at  any  moment  is  the  state  of  consciousness  : 

138 


MENTAL  DEVELOPMENT  139 

the  rest  of  what  we  call  the  mind,  with  all  its  stores 
of  experience,  is  not — or,  let  us  rather  say,  need  not 
be  for  psychology — actually  existent ;  it  need  only 
have  a  potential  existence,  in  that  the  conditions  for 
its  emergence  piecemeal  into  consciousness  continue 
to  exist  during  healthy  life.  The  question  of  the 
existence  of  the  mind  as  an  entity,  not  only  distinct 
from  but  separate  from  the  body,  is  a  philosophical 
question  into  which  we  cannot  enter  here.  It  suffices 
for  purposes  of  purely  psychological  description  and 
explanation  to  assume  that  the  continually  existent 
conditions  are  organic,  and  that  the  brain  affords  a 
physical  basis  for  all  that  we  experience  in  our  states 
of  consciousness.  And  in  any  case  it  is  a  practically 
observable  fact  that  the  maintenance  of  a  healthy 
and  vigorous  condition  of  the  body,  including  the 
brain,  is  essential  for  the  healthy  growth  and  develop- 
ment of  the  mind. 

Body  and  mind,  then,  are  alike  the  products  of 
what  we  may  term  a  natural  synthesis.  Remember, 
however,  that  we  must  distinguish  this  use  of  the 
term  "  synthesis  "  for  the  designation  of  a  natural 
process,  from  our  previous  use  of  the  same  word  for 
the  conscious  and  intentional  putting  together  of  the 
results  of  our  psychological  analysis.  That  was  a 
voluntary  process  ;  this  is  a  process  which  is  involun- 
tary, and  has  its  roots  deep  down  amid,  not  only  the 
organic,  but  even  the  inorganic  operations  of  nature. 
The  union  of  elementary  substances  to  form  a  chemi- 
cal compound,  as  in  the  case  of  the  carbon  that 
burns  to  form  carbonic  acid  gas  ;  the  grouping  of 
molecules  to  form  a  crystal,  as  in  the  case  of  the  crys- 
tallized sugar  obtained  by  slowly  evaporating  syrup  ; 


140      PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

the  formation  of  blood,  muscle,  bone,  and  other  or- 
ganic tissues,  as  in  the  case  of  the  hen's  egg,  which 
after  three  weeks'  incubation  becomes  a  fully-formed 
chick  ;  these  all  illustrate  the  operations  of  a  process 
of  synthesis  which  appears  to  be  one  of  the  widest 
and  most  universal  laws  of  nature,  or  generalizations 
from  experience.  Body  and  mind  are,  I  repeat,  alike 
the  results  of  an  analogous  process  of  natural  syn- 
thesis. And  my  motive  for  thus  emphasizing  this 
fact  is  that  we  may  clearly  understand  what  the 
teacher  may  hope  to  do,  and  what  he  must  not  hope 
to  do,  if  hope  is  to  be  followed  by  fulfilment. 

The  office  of  the  teacher  is  to  supply  the  most 
favorable  conditions  for  the  natural  process  of  mental 
development.  What  we  may  hope  to  do  is  thus  to 
minister  to  nature  :  what  we  must  not  hope  to  do  is, 
as  the  proverb  has  it,  to  make  a  silk  purse  out  of  a 
sow's  ear.  We  can  do  little  for  the  geniuses,  except 
to  be  very  careful  not  to  stand  in  their  way  ;  we  can- 
not do  much  for  the  dunces,  except  to  help  them  to 
realize  where  their  weakness  lies,  and  where  their 
strength — for  your  dunce  intellectually  is  often  ca- 
pable of  excellent  work  of  the  right  sort ;  our  real 
field  of  effort  lies  among  the  mediocrities,  those  who 
are  gifted  with  average  faculties,  which  they  would 
fail  to  develop  without  assistance  and  guidance. 
Our  office  is  to  encourage  the  development  of  these 
faculties,  and  provide  the  proper  raw  material  on 
which  they  may  exercise  their  elaborating  power. 
Here,  again,  the  analogy  of  bodily  development  is 
helpful.  We  give  a  child  the  opportunity  of  assimi- 
lating the  right  sort  of  stuff  ;  we  withhold  noxious 
materials  ;  and  the  child  grows  and  develops.     This 


MENTAL  DEVELOPMENT  141 

is  a  purely  individual  matter,  and  cannot  be  per- 
formed vicariously.  So,  too,  we  may  give  a  child  the 
opportunity  of  assimilating  the  right  sort  of  expe- 
rience, and  withhold  noxious  experience.  But  the  ac- 
tual process  of  assimilation,  that  must  be  left  to  the 
child  and  to  nature.  We  may  minister  to  nature, 
but  we  cannot  perform  her  office.  There  is  one  thing, 
however,  that  we  unfortunately  can  do.  We  can  in- 
duce a  child  to  take  into  his  mouth,  with  no  attempt 
at  assimilation,  a  number  of  phrases  which  sound  like 
knowledge  :  which  are,  indeed,  the  products  of  knowl- 
edge, but  not  his  knowledge,  since  they  have  never 
been  digested  and  assimilated  by  him.  This  is  cram- 
ming. The  stuff  so  crammed  is  like  the  earthy  sub- 
stance some  savages  are  said  to  give  to  their  children, 
which  does  but  swell  out  their  little  stomachs  with- 
out ministering  to  digestion.  To  provide  this  is  not 
the  office  of  the  teacher.  He  insists,  indeed,  upon  a 
good  deal  of  rotework  and  getting  by  heart,  but  all 
with  the  end  of  true  assimilation  in  view. 

And  it  is  the  office  of  the  teacher  to  supply  the 
conditions  for  all-round  development.  We  are  terri- 
bly apt  to  get  mentally  lopsided.  We  are  almost  sure 
to  become  so,  more  or  less,  when  we  come  to  what 
are  termed — often,  alas  !  with  hidden  irony — years 
of  discretion.  The  teacher  should  do  his  best  to  see 
that  those  to  whose  mental  development  he  minis- 
ters shall,  at  any  rate  in  the  early  stages  of  growth, 
have  opportunities  of  development  in  all  reasonable 
and  right  directions. 

Let  us  now  revert  to  the  fact,  so  often  insisted  on, 
that  the  state  of  consciousness  includes  not  only  a 
focus,  but  also  a  margin  ;  not  only  the  central  object 


142  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

of  consciousness,  but  a  background  in  which  that 
object  is  set.  The  state  of  consciousness  at  any  mo- 
ment in  any  individual  is  a  complex  product  which 
is  dependent  upon  the  whole  previous  mental  devel- 
opment in  that  individual.  The  objects  of  sense,  as 
such,  undergo  little  or  no  change  from  our  early 
years  till  our  old  age,  when  the  organs  of  sense  are 
becoming  enfeebled,  and  their  products  in  conscious- 
ness are  growing  dim.  The  objects  of  perception 
and  conception  change  little  from  youth,  when  our 
mental  powers  are  mature,  to  the  end  of  our  life. 
But  the  background  in  which  these  objects  are  set — 
that  changes  as  the  months  and  years  roll  by  ;  and 
with  it,  of  course,  the  relation  of  the  focal  object  to 
the  marginal  background.  It  is  the  nature  of  the 
mental  background  that  determines  the  temperament 
we  are  of,  and  the  mood  we  are  in ;  sickness  or 
health,  freshness  or  fatigue,  affect  the  background 
to  a  far  greater  degree  than  the  actual  focus  of  con- 
sciousness. The  mental  background  is  the  seat  of 
the  character  ;  herein  lies  our  wisdom  or  our  foolish- 
ness, our  stability  of  purpose  or  our  weakness.  This 
it  is  which,  in  any  moment  of  consciousness,  is  en- 
riched from  our  stores  of  memory  through  associa- 
tions by  contiguity  or  suggestions  by  similarity  in  any 
moment  of  consciousness.  And  this  it  is  to  the  de- 
velopment of  which  the  teacher  should  minister. 

In  the  last  five  chapters  we  have  been  dealing  chiefly 
with  the  focus  of  consciousness  ;  for  though  it  is  by 
no  means  universally  true  that  it  is  only  through  the 
focal  gate  that  elements  of  consciousness  can  gain 
admittance  to  the  marginal  background,  still  it  is 
true  that  a  very  large  proportion  of  the  background 


MENTAL  DEVELOPMENT  143 

has  passed  through  that  focal  gate.  It  is  chiefly 
with  the  focus  of  consciousness,  too,  that  the  teacher 
can  directly  deal ;  but  he  should  so  deal  with  it  as  to 
have  constant  reference  to  the  development  of  the 
mental  background.  For,  as  we  claim,  the  province 
of  education  is  to  cultivate  the  mind  as  a  whole  ;  but 
the  mind  as  a  whole  is  a  potentiality  of  existence  of 
which  the  mental  background  in  any  moment  of  con- 
sciousness is,  for  psychology,  the  actually  existent 
sample.  The  background  in  which  the  object  is  set 
is,  at  any  given  moment,  the  actual  representative  of 
all  the  potentiality  of  the  mind.  What  is  to  be  said 
in  this  chapter  in  further  elucidation  of  mental  de- 
velopment must  have  reference  largely  to  the  back- 
ground of  consciousness. 

First  let  us  inquire  what  we  inherit.  What  is  our 
mental  stock  in  trade  to  start  with  ?  It  may  sound 
paradoxical  to  answer,  Our  mental  stock  in  trade  is 
a  body  and  brain.  Such  answer,  however,  probably 
best  indicates  the  facts.  We  do  not  come  into  the 
world  with  any  actual  mental  stock  in  trade,  but  in 
body  and  brain  we  inherit  the  potentiality  of  all  our 
future  mental  development.  If  objection  be  taken 
to  the  word  "potentiality,"  let  us  substitute  for  it 
the  phrase  "  organic  conditions."  The  matter  may 
perhaps  be  made  clearer  by  an  analogy.  We  may 
liken  the  mind  to  the  flower  of  our  life's  growth. 
Now,  the  seed  and  seedling  inherit  no  actual  flowers  ; 
but  it  inherits  certain  organic  conditions  which  render 
the  development  of  flowers  in  due  course  a  matter  of 
natural  sequence.  And  the  nature  of  these  flowers 
down  to  the  minutest  details  is,  except  in  the  matter 
of  differences  individually  acquired,  part  of  its  natural 


144      PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

heritage.  In  like  manner  the  body  and  brain  are  the 
organic  basis  and  condition  of  the  future  mental 
development ;  and  this  is  what  the  babe  inherits. 
But  here  too  the  flower  of  his  mental  growth  down 
to  the  minutest  details  is,  except  in  the  matter  of 
differences  individually  acquired,  part  of  his  natural 
heritage.  He  inherits  no  visual  ideas,  no  auditory 
ideas,  no  ideas  of  touch,  taste,  or  smell ;  but  he 
inherits  the  conditions  for  the  occurrence  of  sense- 
impressions  ;  and  as  the  special  senses  are  called  into 
play  by  the  stimuli  of  the  surroundings,  sense-impres- 
sions are  produced,  and  the  development  of  sense- 
experience  commences.  We  know  very  little  con- 
cerning the  exact  manner  in  which  the  ordering  of 
sensory  data  into  a  consistent  body  of  sense-experience 
takes  place  ;  for  this  ordering  is  well  established  by 
the  time  we  are  two  years  old,  and  this  period  marks 
for  most  of  us  the  extreme  backward  limit  of  memory. 
But  during  this  period  there  has  been  developed  in 
some  way,  by  some  process  of  natural  synthesis,  a 
body  of  sense-experience  which  in  any  moment  of 
consciousness  furnishes  a  sensory  background  in 
which  new  sense-impressions  are  set,  being  thus  raised 
to  the  level  of  what  we  termed  sencepts,  and  to  which 
these  new  impressions  bear  definite  relations,  though 
these  relations  may  not  as  yet  be  definitely  perceived. 
But  not  only  do  the  special  senses  contribute  data 
to  sense-experience.  Our  bodies  respond  to  the 
stimuli  they  receive,  and  respond  in  ways  which  are 
from  the  first  more  or  less  definite  through  inherit- 
ance. Such  responses,  when  they  are  from  the  first 
quite  definite,  are  termed  instinctive.  The  more 
complete  the  organic  development  of  an  animal  at 


MENTAL  DEVELOPMENT  145 

birth,  the  greater  the  number  of  definitely  instinc- 
tive activities  it  inherits.  The  bee  emerges  from  its 
chrysalis  sleep  in  a  highly  developed  condition,  and 
at  once  performs  its  instinctive  activities.  Many  in- 
stinctive activities  are  observable  in  the  newly-hatched 
chick.  The  human  infant  is  relatively  far  less  per- 
fectly developed.  There  are  fewer  definitely  instinc- 
tive activities.  But  the  child  inherits  innate  ten- 
dencies to  respond  to  stimuli  in  more  or  less  definite 
ways.  These  are  accompanied  by  consciousness. 
The  net  results  of  complex  activities — that  is,  activi- 
ties which  involve  a  complex  play  of  muscular  con- 
tractions— stir  our  consciousness  as  wholes,  not  in 
their  varied  details.  Using  the  word  feeling,  in  its 
most  inclusive  sense,  for  any  element  or  group  of 
elements  in  consciousness,  we  may  apply  the  term 
activity -feelings  to  the  effects  in  consciousness  of 
active  responses  to  stimuli.  These  activity-feelings, 
the  conditions  of  which  are  inherited,  are  woven  into 
the  body  of  sense-experience,  in  the  process  of  natural 
synthesis,  and  become  ordered  in  due  relation  to  the 
data  afforded  by  the  special  senses.  Thus  the  sensory 
background  in  which  new  sense-impressions  and  new 
activity-feelings  are  set,  and  to  which  these  new 
objects  of  consciousness  bear  definite  relations,  is 
already  of  considerable  complexity,  comprising  not 
only  data  afforded  by  the  special  senses,  but  also  data 
afforded  by  the  motor  elements,  all  of  them  duly 
ordered  into  a  self-consistent  whole. 

We  have  now  briefly  to  consider  these  states  of 
consciousness  from  a  different  point  of  view.  Hith- 
erto we  have  been  regarding  them  in  their  cognitive 

aspect.     The  term  "  cognitive  "  is  perhaps  in  strict- 
10 


146  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

ness  to  be  applied  only  to  that  which  concerns  knowl- 
edge ;  and  knowledge,  as  we  have  seen,  involves  con- 
ception. We  may,  however,  conveniently  extend  the 
term  "cognitive  "  to  that  aspect  of  sense-experience 
which  is  the  precursor  of  knowledge  properly  so 
called.  If  we  do  not  adopt  this  plan,  we  must  coin 
some  such  new  term  as  "  pre-cognitive " ;  and  we 
have  terms  enough  to  deal  with  as  it  is  without  in- 
venting new  ones.  The  cognitive  aspect  of  experience 
with  which  we  have  been  dealing  gives  the  form  and 
grouping  of  the  picture  of  consciousness  ;  the  emo- 
tional aspect,  to  which  we  must  now  turn  our  atten- 
tion, gives  the  color  and  tone  of  the  picture.  And 
just  as  the  artist  in  oils  uses  the  same  materials  to 
express  both  form  and  color,  so  it  is  in  consciousness. 
The  same  impressions  and  ideas  in  the  focus,  the 
same  background  of  sensory  and  motor  elements, 
which  we  have  been  considering  in  their  cognitive 
aspect,  present  us  also  with  the  emotional  aspect, 
when  we  fix  our  attention  not  on  the  form  and  group- 
ing, but  on  the  coloring  of  the  mental  picture.  We 
have  not  to  deal  with  a  new  group  of  emotional  im- 
pressions and  ideas,  but  with  a  new  aspect — one 
which  we  have  so  far  intentionally  neglected — of  our 
states  of  consciousness.  It  is  now  our  duty  to  make 
this  aspect  predominant  through  analysis. 

We  may  speak  of  the  coloring  of  our  states  of  con- 
sciousness as  emotional  tone.  The  phrase  is  by  no 
means  altogether  satisfactory,  but  it  may  serve  till  some 
other  wins  its  way  to  general  acceptance.  It  includes 
not  only  that  coloring  which  we  describe  as  pleasur- 
able and  painful,  but  also  a  great  number  of  shades 
which  are,  so   to   speak,  made  of  the   same  stuff  as 


MENTAL  DEVELOPMENT  147 

pleasure  and  pain,  but  which  could  not  be  grouped 
under  either  of  these  heads.  It  is  difficult  to  say 
whether  anger  and  pity,  both  of  which  are  suffused 
with  emotional  tone,  are  pleasurable  or  painful. 
They  may  be  either,  or  neither,  or  perhaps  both  ;  for 
there  is  a  painful  pleasure  in  anger,  and  a  sweet  pain 
in  pity.  What  we  speak  of  as  excitement  may  be 
pleasurable,  or  painful,  or  neither  the  one  nor  the 
other,  and  yet  full  of  emotional  tone. 

It  is  characteristic  of  emotional  tone  that  it  diffuses 
itself  over  the  whole  state  of  consciousness.  Pain, 
especially  acute  pain,  due  to  some  definite  organic 
mischief,  such  as  a  deep  cut  or  a  toothache,  may  be 
concentrated  in  the  focus  of  consciousness  ;  but  this 
acute  pain  due  to  physical  injury  should,  I  think,  be 
placed  in  a  class  by  itself,  and  distinguished  from 
the  more  general  emotional  tone  witli  which  we  are 
dealing.  Setting  that  aside,  it  is,  I  repeat,  character- 
istic of  emotional  tone  that  it  is  diffused  over  the 
whole  state  of  consciousness.  And  this  is  especially 
true  of  those  states  which  are  par  excellence  termed 
the  emotions.  Much  may,  indeed,  be  said  in  favor 
of  the  view,  to  which  I  personally  more  and  more  in- 
cline, that  the  emotional  tone  is  mainly,  in  such  cases, 
a  matter  of  the  background  of  consciousness.  What 
is  in  focus  is  the  object  which  excites  the  emotion. 
One  object  excites  anger,  another  surprise,  another 
fear,  another  interest,  another  aversion,  and  so  on. 
Each  calls  up  its  special  background,  and  therein,  of 
course  in  its  relation  to  the  focal  object,  lies  the  main 
body  of  the  emotional  tone.  And  this  emotional  tone 
is  very  largely,  probably  we  may  say  predominantly, 
associated   with   what   we   termed   activity-feelings, 


148  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

either  presentative  or  re-presentative.  Thus  the 
emotion  of  anger  involves  the  re-presentative  sugges- 
tion, in  the  background  of  consciousness,  of  those 
activity-feelings  which  accompany  certain  forms  of 
vigorous  action  to  which  we  have  an  innate  tendency. 
When  this  re-presentative  suggestion  is  strong,  there 
follows  a  faint  repetition  of  this  action,  which  is 
termed  the  "expression  of  the  emotion."  And  this 
faint  action  presentatively  strengthens  the  re-pre- 
sentative emotion.  Thus  by  action  and  reaction  we 
may,  as  we  say,  work  ourselves  up  into  a  passion. 
The  emotion  of  dread  involves  the  re-presentative 
suggestion  of  that  state  of  muscular  collapse  which 
would  appear  to  be  in  the  first  instance  a  purely 
organic  and  physical  effect.  When  this  re-presenta- 
tive suggestion  is  strong,  there  follows  a  faint  tend- 
ency to  such  collapse,  and  this  again  presentatively 
strengthens  the  re-presentative  emotion.  We  call 
this  "giving  way"  to  the  emotion;  and  it  is  well 
known  that  such  giving  way  may  result  in  complete 
collapse.  The  emotions,  then,  in  so  far  as  they  are 
due  to  activity-feelings  in  their  aspect  of  emotional 
tone,  may  be  either  presentative  or  re-presentative, 
or  partly  the  one  and  partly  the  other. 

Now,  the  control  of  which  we  spoke  in  the  third 
chapter  is  essentially  a  motor  control.  Whether  we 
can  control  the  course  of  our  thoughts  is  a  matter 
upon  which  there  is  want  of  agreement.  But  all 
agree  that  we  can  exercise  motor  control  over  our 
muscular  activities.  Note,  then,  the  bearing  of  this 
fact  upon  what  is  termed  self-control  in  the  matter 
of  the  emotions.  It  may  be  doubtful  whether  we 
can  exercise  control  over  the  emotion  as  purely  re- 


MENTAL  DEVELOPMENT  149 

presentative,  but  there  is  no  doubt  that  we  can  ex- 
ercise control  over  the  motor  expression  of  the  emo- 
tion. We  can  check  that  clenching  of  the  fists, 
setting  of  the  teeth,  and  general  tightening  up  of  the 
muscles,  which  anger  as  re-presentative  tends  to 
call  forth.  We  thus  prevent  that  reinforcement  of 
the  emotion  by  the  addition  thereto  of  presentative 
elements,  which  leads  to  the  passion  gaining  sway 
over  us.  So,  too,  with  grief.  AVe  cannot,  when  death 
has  snatched  from  us  our  nearest  and  dearest, 
banish  sorrow  from  our  mind  ;  memories  crowd  in 
on  the  background  of  our  consciousness  and  will  not 
be  gainsaid.  But  we  can  exercise  self-control  over 
the  expression  of  our  grief.  These  are  elementary 
and  familiar  facts,  but  they  should  be  steadily  borne 
in  mind  by  the  teacher.  That  habits  of  self-control 
can  be  acquired  stands  almost  beyond  question.  It 
is  the  office  and  privilege  of  the  teacher  to  assist  in 
and  encourage  the  acquisition  of  such  habits. 

The  introduction  of  the  element  of  control  has  led 
us  on  to  the  third  point  of  view  from  which  states  of 
consciousness  may  be  considered,  that  of  volifio?i  or 
the  will.  Authorities  differ  as  to  whether  or  not  there 
are  special  elements  in  consciousness  due  to  the  exer- 
cise of  control.  Personally  I  am  inclined  to  believe 
that  there  are;  but  the  matter  is  too  technical  for 
discussion  here.  Nor  is  such  discussion  needful  ;  for 
the  will  is  essentially  a  practical  faculty.  Let  us, 
however,  note  clearly  the  relations  of  what  we  have 
termed  the  three  aspects  of  the  state  of  consciousness. 
The  cognitive  aspect  is  essentially  objective  ;  it  deals 
with  the  object  of  consciousness  in  relation  to  the 
existing  mental  background.     The  emotional  aspect 


150  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

is  essentially  subjective ;  it  deals  with  the  emotional 
tone  of  our  own  states  of  consciousness.  It  is  the 
fountain-head  of  action,  and  leads,  if  unchecked  and 
uncontrolled,  to  that  mode  of  activity  which  we  term 
impulsive.  The  volitional  aspect  is  essentially  active 
and  controlling  ;  it  is  in  close  touch  with  the  cogni- 
tive objective  aspect  on  the  one  hand,  and  with  the 
emotional  and  impulsive  aspect  on  the  other  hand ; 
it  holds  impulse  in  check  in  the  light  of  an  extended 
cognition.  The  impulsive  emotions  are  like  spirited 
horses  in  the  coach,  or  more  prosaic  omnibus,  of  life  ; 
volition  is  the  coachman,  now  reining  in  and  now 
whipping  up  the  horses.  Both  the  horses  and  the 
coachman  employ  their  cognitive  powers,  but  the 
latter  with  wider  view  and  more  foresight.  And  any 
mismanagement  or  upsetting  of  the  coach  or  omnibus 
may  damage  many  people,  and  be  a  social  evil.  Even 
if  we  are  independently  driving  our  own  dogcart, 
mismanagment  may  derange  the  whole  traffic.  The 
analogy  is  not  altogether  satisfactory  ;  we  must  fuse 
our  coachman  and  horses  into  a  sort  of  mythical 
centaur,  to  represent  the  essential  unity  of  conscious- 
ness in  its  three  aspects,  cognitive,  emotional,  and 
volitional. 

The  practical  word  of  advice  in  the  matter  of  the 
training  of  the  will  is — Remember  that  control  is,  at 
any  rate  primarily,  a  faculty  that  deals  with  motor 
activities.  And  remember  that  it  is  in  trivial  mat- 
ters and  unessential  activities  that  a  power  of  control 
can  most  readily  be  acquired.  Do  not  expect  your 
coachman  to  hold  in  check  a  spirited  horse,  if  he 
have  had  no  practice  on  inoffensive  donkeys,  quiet 
old  ponies,  and  easy-going  cobs.     Do  not  expect  a 


MENTAL  DEVELOPMENT  151 

lad  to  exercise  self-control  in  the  stress  of  strong  temp- 
tation and  hot  impulse,  if  he  have  had  no  training 
in  motor  control  when  the  tenvptation  was  scarcely 
felt  and  the  impulse  no  stronger  than  a  slight  leaning 
or  inclination.  Just  as  habits  of  obedience  are  fos- 
tered by  insisting  on  absolute  conformity  to  our  in- 
structions in  all  things,  no  matter  how  unimportant ; 
so  are  habits  of  self-control  fostered  by  encouraging 
frequent  exercise  of  the  faculty  in  the  little  daily  ac- 
tions of  ordinary  life,  no  matter  how  trivial. 

Let  us  return  now  to  the  cognitive  aspect  of  states 
of  consciousness.  For  the  affording  of  training  in 
matters  of  skill  we  speak  of  instruction,  with  its 
accompanying  practical  demonstration.  AVe  also 
speak  of  demonstrating  a  theorem,  say  in  Euclid. 
This  process  consists  in  proving,  in  particular  in- 
stances, the  validity  of  a  generalization  which  is  clearly 
and  concisely  enunciated.  The  two  uses  of  the  word 
"demonstration"  should  be  carefully  distinguished. 
Practical  demonstration  consists  in  showing  how  a 
thing  is  to  be  done,  instead  of  only  describing  how  it 
is  to  be  done.  Its  correlative  is  i mi 'I 'at ion.  In  that 
branch  of  education  which  comprises  instruction  in 
matters  of  skill,  a  little  practical  demonstration  is 
more  helpful  than  much  description.  For  the  per- 
fecting of  skill,  continued  practice  is  essential.  The 
accomplishment  of  a  skilled  act  is  usually  accom- 
panied by  the  emotional  tone  of  satisfaction.  The 
child  is,  however,  apt  to  be  somewhat  easily  satisfied  ; 
and  it  is  the  office  of  the  teacher  to  lead  his  pupil  on 
to  be  satisfied  only  with  the  best  performance.  One 
of  the  characteristics  of  a  successful  man,  in  the 
truest  sense  of  the  word  "  successful,"  is  that  he  is 


152  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

dissatisfied  with  even  his  best  performances,  and 
seeks  to  attain  satisfaction  by  bettering  them.  This 
is  that  "noble  discontent"  which  constantly  spurs  a 
man  on  to  higher  and  more  strenuous  endeavor.  It 
should  therefore  be  the  aim  of  the  teacher  to  foster 
the  development  in  the  background  of  consciousness 
of  this  right  and  helpful  sort  of  dissatisfaction  which 
prompts  to  higher  perfection.  The  healthy  competi- 
tion of  games  is  of  great  value  in  contributing  to  this 
development.  This  is  one  of  the  points  in  which  the 
educational  influence  of  our  great  public  schools  is 
so  valuable.  And  since  all  improvement  in  skill  is 
effected  through  the  application  of  motor  control,  it 
is  clear  that  we  have  here  also  a  wide  field  for  the 
training  of  the  will.  Lack  of  improvement  is  often 
due  to  mere  weakness  of  will ;  there  is  an  amiable 
wish  to  do  better,  but  th.e  application  of  control 
is  wanting.  Whether  a  teacher  can  do  much  to 
strengthen  a  naturally  weak  will  is  a  question  that  is 
perhaps  open  to  discussion.  But  he  can,  at  any  rate, 
encourage  control  in  matters  of  skill  in  which  the 
opposing  force  to  be  overcome  is  rather  indolence 
than  strong  emotional  impulse. 

We  may  apply  the  term  information  to  that  which 
is  given  and  received  through  oral  or  written  descrip- 
tion. Those  who  can  readily  absorb  and  retain  the 
information  imparted  to  them  may  be  said  to  have 
good  powers  of  receptivity.  It  may  perhaps  be  said, 
without  either  injustice  or  exaggeration,  that  of  all 
branches  of  modern  education  this  is  the  easiest,  the 
commonest,  and  the  least  valuable  from  the  stand- 
point of  mental  development.  People  nowadays,  of 
all  ages  and  of  all  classes,  are  athirst  for  information, 


MENTAL  DEVELOPMENT  153 

and  the  means  of  providing  it  are  multiplied  ex- 
ceedingly. Nor  should  we  undervalue  such  informa- 
tion. It  is  the  stuff  of  which  knowledge  is  made,  or, 
let  us  rather  say,  the  stuff  which,  in  correlation  with 
individual  observation  and  individual  generalization, 
contributes  to  the  making  of  knowledge.  There  is, 
moreover,  no  more  delightful  companion  than  the 
well-informed  man.  But  it  is  only  one  factor,  and 
that  not  the  most  important  factor  in  education. 
The  danger  is  lest  it  should  be  regarded  as  all-suf- 
ficing. 

Assigning  to  it,  therefore,  its  true  place  in  the  edu- 
cational scheme,  encouraging  the  constant  checking 
of  information  by  personal  observation  whenever  op- 
portunity occurs,  and  insisting  upon  the  due  exercise 
of  the  generalizing  faculty  of  conception  and  the  par- 
ticularizing faculty  of  perception  on  the  materials 
supplied  through  the  channels  of  information,  it  is 
the  office  of  the  teacher  to  do  all  in  his  power  to  see 
that  the  information  is  accurata  and  thorough.  In- 
formation is  mainly  descriptive.  The  demand  for  it 
implies  a  special  attitude  of  mind,  which  we  may  term 
the  "how"  attitude.  This  is  most  valuable.  AVe 
ought  to  endeavor  to  establish  in  the  minds  of  our 
pupils  a  permanent  background  of  "how  t*  so  that 
of  every  object  we  see  and  of  every  fact  we  are  told, 
the  question,  How  is  it  related  to  other  objects  or  to 
other  facts  ?  at  once  suggests  itself.  If  possible,  it 
is  better  to  answer  the  question  "  how  "  by  observa- 
tion ;  but,  failing  that,  information  must  be  accepted 
as  a  substitute.  The  emotional  tone  associated  with 
the  "  how"  attitude  is  what  we  term  interest.  And 
the  importance  of  interest  in  education  is  too  familiar 


154  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

to  need  special  illustration.  What  I  am  here  anxious 
to  show  is  that  this  "  how"  attitude,  with  its  emo- 
tional tone  of  interest,  should  be  so  woven  into  the 
margin  of  consciousness  as  to  become  part  of  the 
permanent  mental  background  of  character. 

Before  passing  on  to  point  out  that  we  should  en- 
deavor to  establish  not  only  a  "  how  "  attitude  with 
its  descriptive  interest,  but  also  a  ' '  why  "  attitude 
with  its  interest  in  explanation,  a  few  lines  may  be 
devoted  to  the  importance  of  correlating  the  faculties 
of  observation  and  description.  It  is  one  thing  to 
observe  well,  and  another  thing  to  describe  well  the 
observations  we  have  made.  But  for  purposes  of 
knowledge,  which  is  not  only  a  personal  and  in- 
dividual matter  but  of  general  and  social  validity, 
individual  observation  has  to  be  translated  into  ac- 
curate description  in  order  that  the  results  of  the  ob- 
servation be  rendered  socially  accessible.  Hence  the 
pupil  should  be  trained  not  only  to  observe  but  to 
describe  his  observations.  "When  such  correlation  of 
the  two  faculties  has  been  established,  not  only  will 
observation  tend  to  clothe  itself  in  description  in  the 
moment  of  practical  experience,  but  description,  read 
or  heard,  will  tend  to  call  up  images  of  observations 
similar  to  those  that  are  described. 

What  was  spoken  of  just  now  as  the  "why"  at- 
titude is  analogous  to  the  "  how  "  attitude  ;  but  it 
requires  not  a  descriptive  answer,  but  an  explana- 
tion. Such  a  mental  attitude  is  natural  to  a  rational 
being.  But  there  are  many  people,  old  as  well  as 
young,  who  appear  to  have  a  much  keener  appetite 
for  scraps  of  information  and  superficial  description 
than  for  either  thorough  information,  full  and  ac- 


MENTAL  DEVELOPMENT  155 

curate  description,  or  explanation  in  any  of  its  wider 
and  deeper  phases.  The  minor  newspapers,  that 
consist  of  a  heterogeneous  and  disjointed  series  of 
snippets,  minister  to  and  encourage  this  kind  of 
mental  appetite,  and  foster  a  flabby  and  inconsequent 
habit  of  mind.  Furthermore,  the  constant  reading 
of  a  number  of  scrappy  paragraphs,  the  contents  of 
which  one  has  neither  the  wish  nor  the  intention  to 
remember,  weakens  the  memory,  while  it  impairs  the 
mental  digestion.  The  encouragement  of  the  "  why  " 
attitude  and  of  the  desire  for  explanation  may  do 
something  to  check  this  tendency,  and  may  foster 
the  development  of  a  logical  background.  For  just 
as  the  "  how  "  attitude  at  its  best  leads  up  to 
habits  of  exact  observation  and  accurate  description, 
so  does  the  "  why "  attitude  at  its  best  lead  up 
to  habits  of  consistent,  logical  thought  and  clear 
explanation.  The  rational  being,  as  such,  is  charac- 
terized by  the  fact  that  his  mental  background 
is  ordered  in  accordance  with  logical  relationships, 
so  that  any  object  of  thought  or  experience  at 
once  assumes  its  true  position  in  a  logical  field — a 
field  of  generalizations  which  can  be  rapidly  brought 
to  bear  upon  the  particular  object  immediately  in 
focus. 

But  there  is  something  which  may  be  ranked  higher 
than  reason  and  the  logical  faculty,  to  which  reason 
and  logic  minister.  It  is  that  which  in  its  varied 
phases  is  sometimes  termed  insight,  sometimes  imag- 
ination, sometimes  intuition,  sometimes  inspiration 
(in  the  non-religious  sense).  It  is  perhaps  of  all 
menial  faculties  the  most  difficult  to  describe,  to  de- 
fine, and  to  explain.     It  is  that  faculty  by  which  new 


156  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

thought  is  brought  into  existence.  The  thought  may 
not  be  new  to  the  race,  but  in  any  case  it  is  new  to 
the  individual.  Hence  it  is  rightly  termed  the  crea- 
tive faculty.  Of  course  the  new  thought  is  the  prod- 
uct of  the  interaction  of  old  materials.  We  have 
every  reason  to  believe  that  it  is  a  natural  product ; 
we  may  regard  it,  in  fact,  as  a  specialized  result  of 
that  process  of  natural  synthesis  to  which  allusion 
has  before  been  made.  Just  as  from  a  solution  of 
alum  in  water,  crystals  are  formed  by  natural  process 
of  synthesis  under  appropriate  conditions,  so  from  a 
solution  of  experience  in  thought  new  ideas  crystallize 
out  under  appropriate  conditions.  The  alum  crys- 
tals are  new  to  that  solution,  though  not  new  to 
natural  existence  ;  so  may  the  idea  be  new  to  the  in- 
dividual mind  though  not  new  to  human  thought. 
But  if  we  are  experimenting  with  new  groupings 
of  old  materials  under  new  conditions  (as  is  done 
daily  in  chemical  laboratories),  then  there  may  result 
crystalline  substances  new  to  natural  existence.  And 
if  new  groupings  of  old  experience,  including  per- 
haps also  new  observations,  are  held  in  the  solvent 
thought  of  a  mind  of  exceptional  capacity  and  ac- 
tivity, there  may  crystallize  out  ideas  new  to  man. 

Insight  and  the  higher  creative  imagination  come, 
however,  too  little  within  the  scope  of  the  ordinary 
operations  of  the  teacher  to  justify  more  than  a  bare 
mention  of  them  here.  In  its  lower  ranges  the 
faculty  does  concern  us  in  some  degree ;  and  a  few 
words  concerning  intuitive  procedure,  how  it  may  be 
fostered,  and  how  it  may  be  brought  into  relation 
with  other  mental  processes,  will  not  be  out  of  place. 
Intuitive  procedure    is  what    we    commonly   term 


MENTAL  DEVELOPMENT  157 

u  jumping  to  conclusions."  The  conclusion  is  often 
right,  though  how  we  reached  it,  and  why  we  reached 
it,  we  are  unable  to  say.  Presumably  it  is  largely  a 
subconscious  operation,  a  direct  product  of  the  men- 
tal background  the  details  of  which  we  are  unable  to 
make  focal.  And  probably  it  is  of  the  same  nature 
as  the  suggestions  by  similarity  of  relationship  which 
were  spoken  of  in  the  second  chapter.  Certainly 
those  of  whom  this  mode  of  suggestion  is  strongly  de- 
veloped are  those  who  most  often  exhibit  intuitive 
procedure.  Hence  to  foster  the  faculty,  which  in 
due  restraint  is  a  valuable  one,  we  must  encourage 
this  mode  of  suggestion.  And  we  can  best  encourage 
it  by  being  careful  not  to  check  it,  but  to  guide  it. 
Children  are  often  highly  imaginative  ;  and  nothing 
is  commoner  than  for  the  unimaginative  teacher  to 
ruthlessly  snub  down  the  imagination  of  the  child — 
which  is,  indeed,  a  delightfully  simple  operation,  re- 
quiring neither  experience  nor  tact.  No  doubt  the 
imagination  is  often  wild  and  wayward  ;  but  our  duty 
is  to  train  it,  not  to  crush  it.  And  unfortunately  the 
former  is  a  far  more  difficult  thing  to  do  than  the 
latter.  Snubbing  is  so  easy  ;  the  helpful  guidance  of 
the  imagination  so  difficult.  One  cannot  give  rules 
for  such  guidance  ;  it  is  a  matter  of  tact  in  individ- 
ual cases. 

But  unquestionably  reason  is  the  ballast  by  which 
the  imagination  is  to  be  steadied  and  balanced.  The 
conclusion  to  which  we  jump  by  intuitive  procedure 
must  be  justified  by  logic  at  the  bar  of  reason.  We 
may  not  know  how  and  why  we  reached  the  conclu- 
sion in  the  first  instance  ;  but  we  must  be  able  to  show 
how  and  why  that  conclusion  may  be  justified  and 


158  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

proved  to  be  valid.  Thus  logic  is  the  afterthought 
to  insight.  Thus  reason  ministers  to  inspiration. 
The  wild  and  wayward  nights  of  imagination  must  be 
restrained  within  the  limits  of  either  the  natural  re- 
lations of  the  universe  in  which  we  live,  or  the  assumed 
relations  of  the  universe  our  imagination  creates.  In 
a  word,  the  products  of  the  imagination  must  be  self- 
consistent.  Paradise  Lost  is  one  of  our  most  splen- 
didly imaginative  poems  ;  but  it  is  also  wonderfully 
self-consistent.  Lofty  imagination,  rendered  self- 
consistent  by  reason,  is  the  attribute  of  what  we  term 
genius. 

The  creative  imagination  of  the  great  artist,  be  he 
poet,  painter,  musician,  or  other,  carries  with  it  a 
special  quality  of  emotional  tone  ;  while  the  receptive 
imagination  of  those  to  whom  his  art  appeals,  carries 
with  it  the  same  quality.  This  is  what  is  termed 
(Esthetic  tone.  Like  emotional  tone  in  general,  of 
which  it  is  a  species,  it  is  mainly  a  matter  of  the 
mental  background.  We  feel  on  reading  a  poem, 
looking  at  a  picture,  or  hearing  a  symphony,  that  the 
whole  body  of  our  consciousness  is  thrilling  with 
emotional  tone.  We  shall  return  to  this  point  in  the 
ninth  chapter,  when  we  shall  consider  literature  as  an 
example  of  art,  and  shall  say  somewhat  more  concern- 
ing the  special  nature  of  the  aesthetic  tone  which  it 
calls  forth.  It  is  one  of  the  richest  products  of  men- 
tal development ;  we  should  do  all  in  our  power  to 
foster  it. 

And  in  the  creative  imagination  of  the  great  artist 
the  influence  of  the  will  and  of  self-control  is  shown 
in  the  self-consistency  enforced  on  the  product  in 
conformity   with  the  dictates  of   reason.     Nowhere 


MENTAL  DEVELOPMENT  159 

more  completely  than  in  the  works  of  the  great  artist 
do  we  see  cognition,  emotion,  and  will  conspiring  to 
reach  the  highest  product  of  mental  development. 
If  we  can  only  get  our  pupils  to  sit  at  the  feet  of 
these  great  masters,  to  breathe  somewhat  of  their 
spirit,  and  to  learn  of  them,  we  shall  be  doing  for 
them  the  best  that  can  be  done.  The  teacher  should 
be  to  the  taught  the  faithful  interpreter  of  nature 
and  of  art — an  intermediary  whose  office  it  is  to  show 
the  pupil  how  to  learn  for  himself  at  these  two  foun- 
tain-heads. 

Nothing  has  been  said,  unless  indirectly,  on  one 
most  important  aspect  of  mental  development — the 
social  aspect.  That  will  be  reserved  for  special  con- 
sideration in  the  last  chapter.  Enough  has  perhaps 
been  adduced  in  this  chapter  to  show  that  mental 
development  is  not  only  a  matter  of  cognition,  but 
also  of  the  emotions  and  the  will  ;  that  it  is  not  only 
a  matter  which  concerns  the  focus  of  consciousness, 
but  that  it  is  mainly  a  development  of  that  mental 
background  which  is,  at  the  moment  of  conscious- 
ness, the  actual  representative  of  the  whole  poten- 
tiality of  the  mind. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

LANGUAGE  AND  THOUGHT 

Education  begins  in  the  nursery.  There  the  child 
acquires  his  first  practical  acquaintance  with  the 
natural  and  other  objects  by  which  he  is  surrounded. 
He  senses,  though  he  may  not  yet  be  able  to  perceive, 
the  relations  which  they  bear  to  himself  and  to  one 
another.  There  the  raw  material  of  knowledge  and 
thought  begin  to  accumulate.  At  the  same  time, 
the  child  grows  up  in  what  we  may  term  an  atmos- 
phere of  language.  He  is  not  only  directly  taught 
the  use  of  words  through  association  by  contiguity 
with  objects  of  sense-experience ;  these  associations 
are  also  established  indirectly  and  incidentally — 
that  is  to  say,  without  intentional  instruction,  the 
word-sounds  continually  falling  upon  his  ear  in  close 
connection  with  visual  or  other  impressions. 

Presumably  the  first  associations  of  this  kind  are 

between  objects  of  sense-experience  (sencepts)  and  the 

words  by  which  these  objects  are  symbolized.     That 

is  to  say,  those  words  and  parts  of  words  which  are 

expressive  of  relations  have  probably  for  the  little 

child   no   meaning.     They  are  mere   surplusage   of 

sound,   conveying  nothing,  of  no  suggestive  value. 

So  soon  as  the  child  begins  to  speak  he  passes  from 

160 


LANGUAGE  AND  THOUGHT       161 

the  condition  of  being  a  mere  recipient  of  oral  com- 
munication to  that  of  being  himself  a  communica- 
tor. Words  become  for  him  a  means  of  more  com- 
plete intercommunication.  The  words  that  he  first 
employs  are  indicative  either  of  objects  of  sense  or  of 
such  actions  and  activities  as  are  objects  of  sense- 
experience  ;  such  objects,  or  the  states  of  conscious- 
ness in  which  they  are  focal,  being  probably  strongly 
tinged  with  emotional  tone.  This  stage  of  the  use 
of  words — for  we  may  hardly  yet  call  it  the  use  of 
language — may  be  termed  that  of  indicative  com- 
munication. When  the  child  says  "up,"  for  ex- 
ample, that  word  is  indicative  of  a  certain  mode  of 
sense-experience — the  experience  of  being  lifted — 
which  is  also,  through  its  emotional  tone,  an  object 
of  desire,  to  use  this  word  in  a  broadly  inclusive 
sense.  We  must  not  be  misled  by  the  fact  that  the 
word  "  up "  is  used  as  a  preposition,  into  saying 
that  the  child  is  here  employing  a  preposition.  It  is 
not  used  by  the  child  as  a  preposition.  Nor  must 
we  say  that  the  child  is  condensing  a  sentence  into 
one  word,  and  that  this  word  is  really  equivalent  to 
"I  want  to  be  lifted  up."  The  child  is  not  ex- 
pressing the  adverb  of  a  sentence,  the  rest  of  which 
is  unexpressed.  Nor  is  the  word  to  be  regarded  as 
a  sentence,  but  simply  as  a  definite  sound  which  he 
has  learned  to  associate  with  a  particular  piece  of  ob- 
jective sense-experience.  We  ought  not  to  call  the 
words  at  this  stage  of  indicative  communication 
nouns  or  verbs  or  any  other  parts  of  speech  ;  for  the 
terms,  noun,  verb,  etc.,  express  the  relations  of  the 
words  they  name  in  a  sentence.     Nor  should  we  call 

them  condensed  sentences  ;  for  a  sentence  is  descrip- 
8 


162  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

tive,  and  they  are  merely  indicative.     We  must  call 
them  simply  indicative  word-sounds. 

When  the  child  passes  beyond  the  stage  of  mere 
indicative  communication  and  begins  to  talk  in  sen- 
tences, this  shows,  unless  the  sentences  are  merely 
repeated  parrot-fashion,  that  he  is  beginning  to  per- 
ceive relations.  For  since  sentences  descriptively 
express  relations,  it  is  clear  that  the  relations  so  ex- 
pressed must  be  first  perceived.  A  connecting  link 
between  the  stage  of  indicative  communication  and 
this  higher  stage  of  descrijitive  communication,  as 
we  may  term  it,  is  when  the  child  puts  together  in 
juxtaposition  two  objects  of  sense-experience.  When 
the  child  puts  together  the  two  word-sounds,  "  Bow- 
wow, bark,"  he  is  on  the  verge  of,  if  he  have  not 
actually  reached,  predication.  At  first,  perhaps,  a 
mere  expression  through  word-sounds  of  the  sensed 
association  of  a  visual  with  an  auditory  impression, 
it  would  soon  acquire  the  force  of  a  perceived  as- 
sociation ;  in  which  case  the  expression,  though  not 
yet  a  sentence  in  form,  is  a  sentence  in  intent.  And 
when  once  the  child  reaches  this  stage,  when  the 
perception  of  relations  is  dawning  upon  his  mind, 
there  follows  a  period  of  marked  and  rapid  progress, 
partly  due  to  his  individual  use  of  perception,  partly 
to  the  fact  that  through  this  perception  his  teachers 
acquire  a  new  leverage  to  lift  him  up  in  his  onward 
course  of  development. 

For  we  teach  in  relations ;  and  until  these  rela- 
tions can  be  perceived  we  are  able  to  do  little  in  the 
way  of  direct  teaching  :  we  must  be  content  to  afford 
material  to  the  child's  powers  of  imitation,  since  his 
powers  of  apprehension  are  not  yet  developed.     But 


LANGUAGE  AND  THOUGHT       103 

when  the  child's  apprehension  stretches  forth  to 
meet  our  description  ;  when,  partly  under  the  in- 
fluence of  the  development  of  his  quickening  powers 
of  perception,  partly  under  our  guidance  in  the  ap- 
plication of  these  powers,  his  restless  faculty  of  ob- 
servation is  directed  to  the  relations  of  the  phenomena 
of  the  world  around  him  ;  and  when  to  perception 
are  added  analysis  and  generalization  ; — then  the 
child  makes  rapid  progress  on  the  one  hand  in  knowl- 
edge, and  on  the  other  hand  in  the  modes  of  express- 
ing that  knowledge — in  language  and  thought. 

If  we  look  back  to  the  early  condition  of  man,  and 
if  we  study  the,  in  part  primitive,  but  in  part  per- 
haps degenerate,  condition  of  man  as  he  now  is  in 
savage  races,  we  seem  to  find  evidence  of  a  stage  of 
human  progress  when  intercommunication  was  en- 
tirely oral — that  is,  by  word  of  mouth,  and  not  by 
writing,  though  this  oral  communication  was  prob- 
ably very  early  supplemented  by  pictorial  represen- 
tation. In  the  caves  of  France,  and  in  some  of  the 
caverns  of  our  own  country,  there  are  found,  in- 
scribed on  bone  or  antler  or  tusk,  rude  representa- 
tions of  animals.  The  animals  so  represented  are 
sometimes  grouped  ;  and  it  has  been  suggested  that 
these  incised  figures  were  perhaps  not  only  early  efforts 
towards  pictorial  art,  but  were  used  to  convey  in- 
formation, like  the  message-sticks  of  some  uncivilized 
tribes  to-day.  Thus,  in  one  of  the  French  caves 
(the  rock-shelter  of  La  Madeleine,  in  the  Dordogne) 
there  was  found  a  piece  of  antler  on  which  on  one 
side  two  large  aurochs'  heads  are  represented,  and 
on  the  other  a  man  is  depicted  with  a  weapon 
or  burden  on  his  shoulder.     He  is  meeting  horses, 


164      PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

indicated  by  their  heads  ;  behind  him  is  the  sea,  in- 
dicated by  incisions  representing  the  waves,  in  the 
midst  of  which  is  a  fish  or  eel.  It  has  been  sug- 
gested that  all  this  had  a  meaning.  It  may  have 
meant  :  The  tribe  whose  totem  or  sign  is  the  aurochs 
have  left  the  sea,  where  they  have  been  living  on 
fish,  for  the  prairies,  where  they  will  hunt  horses. 
This  is,  no  doubt,  conjectural ;  but  the  suggestion 
is  interesting  as  showing  the  way  in  which  this  very 
early  race  of  man  may  have  employed  pictures  as  a 
means  of  communication.  We  may  speak  of  this 
stage  of  human  progress,  where  word  of  mouth  and 
pictures  are  employed,  as  the  stage  of  oral  and  'pic- 
torial tradition. 

It  is  a  well-known  law  of  organic  development 
that  an  animal  in  the  early  phases  of  its  life-history 
passes  through  stages  in  which  it  resembles  its  re- 
mote ancestors.  The  same  is  true  in  human  prog- 
ress. And  perhaps  we  may,  without  extravagance, 
regard  the  Kindergarten  phase  of  modern  education 
as  a  rehabilitation  of  the  stage  of  oral  and  pictorial 
tradition,  and  may  see,  in  the  concerted  exercises 
and  musical  drill,  the  civilized  survivals  of  what  was 
probably  of  great  value  to  the  tribe  in  early  time, 
and  is  still  of  great  value  among  savage  races,  surviv- 
ing among  them  as  the  war-dance.  The  value  of 
such  exercises  alike  among  savage  tribes  and  in  our 
civilized  Kindergarten  lies  in  the  social  training  it 
affords  in  concerted  action.  And  musical  drill  may 
illustrate,  what  is  not  improbably  the  fact,  that  music 
arose  in  the  history  of  our  race  as  a  rhythmic  ac- 
companiment to  the  rhythm  of  the  dance. 

Note  that  the  word  "tradition  "  employed  for  this 


LANGUAGE  AND  THOUGHT       165 

stage  of  communication  serves  to  emphasize  the  fact 
that  the  accumulated  knowledge  of  one  generation  is 
thus  1  landed  down  or  carried  on  to  the  next.  This 
is  one  of  the  most  distinctive  features  of  descriptive 
communication  as  compared  with  that  which  we  have 
termed  indicative.  In  the  indicative  stage  of  the  use 
of  words  there  is  no  tradition  or  handing  on  of  the 
results  of  experience.  What  is  indicated  is  essen- 
tially present  experience.  It  deals  wholly  with  the 
here  and  the  now.  A  child  in  this  stage,  for  whom 
words  have  only  an  indicative  value,  is  incapable  of 
understanding  the  relations  of  past  and  future.  If 
we  say,  "  I  will  take  you  up  presently, "  or,  "  I  took 
you  up  just  now,"  it  is  the  word  "  up"  that  has  in- 
dicative force,  unqualified  by  the  past  or  future  re- 
lations we  have  introduced  in  our  description  ;  and  he 
repeats  the  word  "  up  "  to  indicate  his  present  need. 
Not  until  relations  are  perceived,  and  the  apprehen- 
sion of  such  description  is  rendered  possible,  does 
the  child  begin  to  take  the  past,  as  past,  into  his 
view,  or  extend  his  mental  vision  so  as  to  include 
the  future.  Of  course,  in  remembrance  he  has  re- 
presentations of  past  events  ;  but  such  memories  are 
present  to  his  consciousness  at  the  time  of  remem- 
brance, and  that  relation  to  the  present  in  which  lies 
their  perceived  pastness  is  not  yet  an  object  of  per- 
ception. It  is  characteristic  of  sense-experienee,  prior 
to  the  development  of  pereeption,  that  it  lives  wholly 
in  and  for  the  present. 

When  from  the  stage  of  oral  and  pictorial  tradi- 
tion we  pass  to  that  of  written  recant,  we  make  a 
great  onward  stride.  The  child  is  taught  to  read 
and  write.     He  is  thus  provided  with  the  means  of 


166      PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

apprehending  and  comprehending  all  the  knowledge 
placed  upon  record  by  those  who  use  that  language 
which  he  has  been  taught  to  read.  Beading  and 
writing  are  of  course  a  valuable  means  of  intercom- 
munication, more  extended  both  in  space  and  time 
than  is  possible  by  word  of  mouth  alone.  But  this 
is  not  their  chief  value.  Their  chief  value  lies  in 
the  fact  that  written  language  is  a  record  of  thought 
and  experience,  while  the  ability  to  read  this  written 
record  places  us  in  touch  with  all  the  thought  and 
experience  thus  recorded.  And  since  this  is  so, 
since  the  essence  of  thought  can  thus  be  dissolved  in 
the  medium  of  language,  and  so  handed  on,  that  he 
who  can  read  may  thus  drink  the  accumulated  knowl- 
edge of  the  past,  it  might  be  supposed,  and  is  sup- 
posed by  some,  that  all  we  have  to  do  is  to  drink 
deep  of  books,  and  thus  absorb  the  wisdom  of  the 
ages.  But  a  right  understanding  of  the  relation  of 
language  to  thought  will  enable  us  to  grasp  how  fal- 
lacious this  is.  Language  is  the  expression  of 
thought ;  but  it  is  the  symbolic  expression.  Its 
symbolism  is  rendered  suggestive  through  associa- 
tion. Or,  since  the  word  "  symbolic"  may  itself  be 
misleading,  let  us  say  that  words  are  the  signs  of 
ideas,  and  that  their  significance  is  learned  through 
association.  There  is,  for  example,  a  general  idea 
concerning  vibrations  which  is  expressed,  symbolized, 
or  signified  by  the  word  "amplitude."  To  those 
who  have  already  formed  a  concejjtion  of  amplitude, 
and  who  have  learnt  to  associate  the  conception  with 
this  word,  the  word  carries  significance.  To  those 
whose  conception  is  definite  the  significance  is  defi- 
nite ;  to  those  whose  conception  is  hazy  the  signifi- 


LANGUAGE  AND  THOUGHT       1G7 

cance  is  also  hazy;  to  those  who  have  no  conception  the 
word  has  no  significance.  So,  too,  of  language  in  gen- 
eral. It  is  significant  only  to  those  who  have  already 
reached  the  conceptions  it  embodies,  and  have  learned 
to  associate  the  conceptions  with  their  verbal  em- 
bodiments. Hence  the  necessity,  as  already  pointed 
out,  of  constantly  submitting  our  conceptions  to  the 
touchstone  of  experience,  and  allowing  a  continual 
to  and  fro  play  between  generalizing  conception  and 
particularizing  perception. 

It  may  be  said,  What,  then,  is  the  use  of  describ- 
ing or  explaining  that  which  is  new  to  the  experience 
of  the  hearer  ?  If  language  is  significant  only  to 
those  who  have  already  reached  the  conceptions  it 
embodies,  how  can  Ave  lead  up  through  language  to 
new  conceptions  ?  Let  us  note  what  steps  we  j)racti- 
cally  take  in  such  cases.  We  wish  to  describe  quick- 
silver to  a  child.  We  say  that  it  is  something  like 
this  pewter  in  its  brightness  and  the  way  it  reflects 
the  light  ;  it  is  even  heavier  than  this  lead  ;  it  is 
liquid  like  water,  so  that  I  could  pour  it  from  one 
vessel  to  another.  And  we  might  further  qualify 
each  of  these  statements  so  as  to  render  them  more 
exact.  Now,  we  may  assume  that  all  the  words  in 
which  the  quicksilver  is  described  are  significant  to 
the  child  ;  if  they  are  not  significant  the  description 
so  far  fails.  At  the  end,  if  he  have  good  powers  of 
synthesis,  he  may  combine  these  particular  properties 
thus  signified  into  the  new  idea  we  wish  him  to  form. 
The  word  f *  quicksilver  "  then  becomes  significant  to 
him.  But  significant  of  what  ?  Of  a  hit  of  mental 
synthesis  he  has  performed  under  our  guidance.  The 
qualities  so  combined  are  matters  of  direct  experience, 


168  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

and  the  words  which  express  them  are  directly  signifi- 
cant. The  result  of  the  synthesis  (the  quicksilver) 
has  not  been  an  object  of  direct  experience  ;  the  word 
" quicksilver"  is  only  indirectly  significant.  To  the 
questions  placed  at  the  beginning  of  this  paragraph, 
we  must  reply,  that  since  language  is  significant  only 
to  those  who  have  already  reached  the  ideas  it  em- 
bodies, the  new  ideas  to  which  we  can  lead  up  through 
language  are  only  indirect  or  second-hand,  and  the 
words  which  stand  for  them  are  only  indirectly 
significant.  And  the  use  of  describing  or  explaining 
that  which  is  new  to  the  experience  of  the  hearer  is 
that,  through  apprehension  and  comprehension,  he 
may  reach  indirect  conceptions  preparatory  to  the 
direct  conceptions  which  will  result  from  direct  ex- 
perience through  individual  observation,  perception, 
and  conception.  The  distinction  here  drawn  between 
indirect  conception  and  significance  on  the  one  hand, 
and  direct  conception  and  significance  on  the  other 
hand,  is  one  which  the  teacher  should  clearly  grasp. 
Let  him  by  an  appeal  to  his  own  experience  answer 
the  questions,  What  is  the  relative  validity  of  direct 
conception  and  indirect  conception  ?  Which  is  the 
most  real  and  vivid  ?  Which  answers  most  closely  to 
the  facts  of  existence  ?  There  can  be  little  doubt 
about  the  answer.  Indirect  conception  is  a  makeshift, 
most  valuable  as  preparatory  to  direct  conception, 
but  of  nothing  like  the  same  validity  and  reality. 
The  teacher  should  therefore  lose  no  opportunity  of 
encouraging  dissatisfaction  with  merely  indirect  con- 
ception, and  of  helping  his  pupil  to  see  the  impor- 
tance of  making  their  conceptions  direct  by  bringing 
them  into  perceptual  touch  with  experience.     So  far 


LANGUAGE  AND  THOUGHT       169 

as  is  possible,  every  word  should  be  rendered  directly 
and  not  merely  indirectly  significant.  Thus  only 
will  the  true  relation  between  language  and  thought 
be  established. 

The  words  "significance"  and  "meaning"  are 
used  for  the  most  part  interchangeably — that  is  to 
say,  they  bear  much  the  same  meaning  or  signifi- 
cance. They  are  somewhat  troublesome,  however, 
from  the  fact  that  they  are  applied  not  only  to  words, 
but  to  ideas  and  objects  of  thought.  We  not  only 
say,  for  example,  that  such  and  such  a  word  or  phrase 
is  significant  and  full  of  meaning,  but  we  say  also 
that  this  or  that  observed  fact  is  significant,  or  that 
we  now  see  its  meaning.  Or  we  may  say  that  such 
and  such  an  observation,  which  apparently  has  no 
bearing  upon  any  generalization,  is  insignificant  and 
without  obvious  meaning.  The  two  uses  are,  how- 
ever, closely  connected  ;  and  a  brief  consideration  of 
the  connection  will  serve  to  bring  home  both  the  real 
meaning  of  significance  and  the  true  significance  of 
meaning. 

Knowledge — and  the  same  is  true  of  the  thought 
which  embraces  it — is  a  closely-related  whole,  all 
the  parts  of  which  are  mutually  interdependent. 
Nothing  therein  is  isolated  or  independent  of  the 
rest.  If  any  observed  fact  is  apparently  isolated  and 
independent,  we  say  that  we  do  not  see  how  to  fit  it 
into  our  scheme  of  knowledge,  and  that,  for  the  pres- 
ent at  least,  we  are  unable  to  explain  it.  We  may 
note,  in  passing,  that  different  people  regard  these 
apparently  isolated  and  inexplicable  facts  or  observa- 
tions from  different  points  of  \\v\v.  Some  ignore  or 
neglect  them,  as  tending  to  interfere  with  a  scheme 


170  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

of  knowledge  with  which  they  are  well  satisfied. 
Others  hail  them,  and  try  to  make  them  the  starting- 
points  of  new  investigations.  They  hold  that  their 
scheme  of  knowledge  is,  after  all,  limited  and  imper- 
fect. They  are  dissatisfied  with  its  limitations  and 
imperfections,  and  would  gladly  extend  and  perfect 
it.  The  one  set  of  people  ignore  and  neglect  the  ap- 
parently isolated  observation,  because  it  has  for  them 
no  meaning  or  significance ;  the  other  set  hail  it, 
because  they  hope  to  ascertain  its  significance  and 
meaning.  From  which  we  may  gather  that  these 
words  express  the  relation  which  any  object  of  con- 
sciousness bears  to  the  general  body  of  inter -related 
knowledge. 

But  language  is  the  medium  in  and  through  which 
knowledge  is  communicated.  It  too  shares  in  the 
close  interdependence  of  knowledge.  Isolated  facts 
and  observations  are  not  knowledge  ;  nor  are  isolated 
words  and  phrases  language.  Just  as,  when  we  in- 
quire what  the  meaning  of  a  fact  is,  we  wish  to  know 
its  relations  to  other  facts  and  to  that  part  of  the 
body  of  knowledge  which  comprises  it ;  so  too,  when 
we  inquire  what  the  meaning  of  a  word  is,  we  wish 
to  know  its  relations,  as  a  symbol  of  thought,  to 
other  symbols  and  to  that  part  of  the  body  of  lan- 
guage which  comprises  it.  Hence  we  can  never  say 
what  the  full  significance  and  meaning  of  a  word  is 
unless  we  know  what  its  context  is  in  the  sentence. 
Significance  and  meaning,  then,  in  all  cases  imply 
the  conception  and  perception  of  the  relations  in- 
volved ;  but  as  applied  to  words  they  imply  the  con- 
ception and  perception  of  a  double  relationship — the 
relations  of  the  symbols,  and  the  relations  of  that 


LANGUAGE  AND  THOUGHT       171 

which  they  symbolize.  All  through,  mental  training 
from  the  nursery  to  the  study  involves  a  concurrent 
education  in  language  and  thought. 

For  purposes  of  exact  science,  and  for  purpo 
of  logical  treatment,  the  meaning  of  certain  words 
is  rigidly  and  accurately  defined.  They  then  become 
what  are  called  technical  terms.  In  physics,  for  ex- 
ample, we  must  not  use  the  terms  "  energy,"  "  mass," 
or  "  acceleration  "  in  any  other  than  their  technical 
acceptation  ;  in  geometry,  the  terms  "  point,"  "  cir- 
cle," "  radius,"  and  so  on,  are  carefully  defined. 
The  technical  language  of  science  thus  possesses  the 
advantage  of  rigid  accuracy  of  significance,  but  it 
thereby  becomes  mechanical  and  loses  its  plasticity. 
In  the  language  of  literature,  on  the  other  hand,  the 
words  employed  are  not  technical  terms,  rigidly  and 
accurately  defined  ;  they  acquire  their  significance 
to  a  far  greater  extent  from  the  context.  Their  re- 
lations to  each  other  may  be  described  as  rather  or- 
ganic than  mechanical.  In  the  literary  product  of 
a  great  master,  while  the  meaning  and  significance 
are  scarcely,  if  at  all,  less  exact  than  in  the  lan- 
guage of  science,  the  inter-relations  are  far  subtler. 
They  involve  great  delicacy  and  nicety  of  perception. 
In  our  higher  education  we  afford  opportunities  for 
the  training  of  mind  in  the  relations  of  language 
and  thought  not  only  in  scientific  description  and 
explanation,  but  also  in  the  more  imaginative  prod- 
ucts of  literary  masters  with  their  more  direct  sug- 
gestion of  emotional  tone.  And  if  we  have  in  view 
all-round  mental  development,  a  training  neither  in 
the  language  and  thought  of  science  nor  in  the  lan- 
guage and  thought  of  literature  should  be  omitted. 


172      PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

The  language  and  thought  of  our  daily  conversa- 
tion is,  as  a  rule,  neither  one  thing  nor  the  other. 
It  has  neither  the  exactitude  of  the  mechanical  rela- 
tion characteristic  of  the  one,  nor  the  delicacy  of 
the  organic  relation  characteristic  of  the  other.  But 
if  often  somewhat  hazy  and  indefinite,  it  is,  at  any 
rate,  eminently  plastic. 

3y  learning  to  read,  the  child  passes  from  the  stage 
where  he  is  merely  receptive  of  oral  and  pictorial 
communication,  to  the  stage  at  which  he  can  make 
use  of  the  written  record.  But  he  is  then  only  en- 
tering upon  the  threshold  of  his  education.  How 
shall  we  train  him  so  that  language  and  thought  may 
develop  in  him  to  their  best  and  highest  uses  ?  One 
way  of  answering  this  question  would  be  to  sketch 
out  a  self-consistent  scheme  of  education,  primary 
and  secondary,  and  diverging  thence  into  technical 
and  university.  It  is  not  my  intention  to  attempt 
anything  of  the  sort.  I  shall  content  myself  with 
the  more  modest  endeavor  to  indicate  as  briefly  as 
possible  what  would  appear  to  be  the  chief  psy- 
chological import  of  the  subjects  which  are  com- 
monly taught. 

We  may  first  note  that  a  subject  may  claim  a  place 
in  an  educational  scheme — (1)  on  account  of  its 
direct  educational  value  as  a  means  of  mental  disci- 
pline ;  (2)  on  account  of  its  utility,  by  which  is  meant 
not  only  its  utility  for  getting  on  in  the  world,  but 
also  its  utility  for  further  intellectual  progress  ;  and 
(3)  on  account  of  its  aesthetic  or  moral  worth. 

Little  need  be  said  on  the  value  of  grammar,  com- 
position, and  the  analysis  of  sentences.  But  we 
should  not  begin  to  teach  grammar  too  soon  ;  nor 


LANGUAGE  AND  THOUGHT       173 

should  we  make  it  an  exercise  in  mere  memory-work, 
with  rules,  lists  of  examples,  and  lists  of  exceptions, 
all  learned  by  heart.  When  the  child  is  already  tol- 
erably familiar  with  the  use  of  his  own  language, 
and  is  sufficiently  developed  to  be  able  to  perceive 
the  relations  of  the  words  to  each  other  in  a  sentence, 
then,  starting  with  the  sentence,  not  with  the  gram- 
mar book,  we  should  train  his  powers  of  perception 
of  these  relations.  And  an  admirable  field  for  the 
training  of  perception  it  is.  When  these  relations 
have  been  perceived  in  a  great  number  of  particular 
cases,  we  may  lead  the  pupil  on  to  generalize  these 
perceptions,  to  conceive  the  relationships,  and  to 
apply  the  conceptions  in  particular  cases.  In  this 
way  parsing  and  the  grammatical  analysis  of  sen- 
tences may  be  made  a  real  and  very  valuable  mental 
discipline.  The  child  should  not  be  allowed  to  see  a 
grammar  until  his  powers  of  grammatical  perception 
are  such  that  he  is  beginning  to  have  complete  con- 
fidence in  them,  nor  until  he  has  reached,  under  due 
guidance  from  the  teacher,  a  number  of  generaliza- 
tions for  himself.  Then  he  may  use  a  grammar, 
but  even  then  chiefly  as  a  book  of  reference.  Com- 
position may  be  used  as  a  means  of  exemplifying 
what  has  been  learned  in  the  study  of  grammatical 
analysis.  But  just  as  the  child  should  be  encouraged 
to  see  that  language  is  not  only  a  medium  for  the 
perception  of  grammatical  relations,  but  a  medium 
through  which  emotional  tone  may  be  evoked  ;  so, 
too,  he  must  be  encouraged  to  use  language  in  com- 
position to  a  similar  end.  He  should  be  encouraged 
to  develop  that  appreciation  of  literary  form  which 
characterizes  the  best  use  of  language,  and  to  ex- 


174  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

press  himself  in  a  form  that  is  at  any  rate  not  awk- 
ward, slipshod,  or  incorrect. 

I  pass  now  to  the  study  of  foreign  languages.  For 
direct  educational  value  there  is  no  question  that 
such  a  highly  inflectional  language  as  Latin  stands 
far  higher  than  modern  languages.  Indeed,  we  may 
say  that  the  comparative  study  of  an  analytic  lan- 
guage like  English,  and  an  inflectional  language  like 
Latin,  is  essential  for  the  best  training  in  the  per- 
ception of  grammatical  relations.  In  the  inflectional 
language  each  word  bears  on  its  face  the  sign  of  its 
relationship.  "  Magister  pueros  docet."  The  sub- 
ject is  here  clearly  indicated  and  marked  off  by  its 
termination  from  the  object  as  complement  of  the 
predicate.  The  time-relation  is  also  clearly  shown 
in  the  form  of  the  verb.  In  English,  though  we 
still  retain  some  inflections,  we  as  a  rule  indicate  the 
relations  either  by  separate  words  or  by  position  in  the 
sentence.  While  in  Latin  we  say  "  docet,"  "  docuit," 
"  docebat,"  or  "  docebit,"  the  verb  itself  showing 
the  time-relation,  in  English  we  say  "  teaches  "  and 
"  taught,"  so  far  like  the  Latin,  but  "  was  teaching" 
and  "  will  teach,"  here  using  separate  words  to  ex- 
press the  time-relation.  In  Latin,  as  in  English,  the 
grammatical  analysis  should,  so  far  as  is  possible,  be 
made  a  matter  of  direct  perception  in  the  sentence, 
not  a  matter  of  rules  learned  by  heart  in  the  gram- 
mar. The  headmaster  of  a  grammar  school  tried,  for 
a  term,  the  experiment  of  giving  no  grammar  work 
from  the  book,  but  taught  his  form  to  exercise  their 
perceptions  on  the  grammatical  relations  as  they 
naturally  arose,  and  to  generalize  the  results  they 
obtained.     At  the  end  of  the  term  he  set  a  grammar 


LANGUAGE  AND  THOUGHT       175 

paper  ;  and  though  the  form  was  nowise  above  the 
average,  the  grammar  papers  they  sent  in  were  dis- 
tinctly above  the  average.  It  is  as  a  means  of  training 
the  faculties  of  perception  and  generalization  that 
the  study  of  such  a  language  as  Latin  in  comparison 
with  English  is  so  valuable.  For  utility,  French  and 
German  are  superior  to  Latin.  For  this  purpose  a 
conversational  and  reading  acquaintance  with  the 
language  is  of  more  service  than  a  training  of 
grammatical  perception  by  its  means.  Indeed, 
the  relations  to  be  perceived  are  so  similar  to  those 
already  provided  for  in  the  study  of  English  and 
Latin,  that  in  the  study  of  French  or  German  reference 
to  them  should  only  be  incidental.  The  teaching 
of  a  modern  language  should  be,  and  generally  is, 
on  different  lines  from  those  marked  out  for  the  study 
of  Latin.  All  these  linguistic  studies  offer  a  con- 
venient field  for  the  encouragement  of  the  "how" 
attitude  and  the  "  why  "  attitude.  And  it  is  partly 
because  the  "how"  and  the  "why n  admit  of  such 
ready  descriptive  and  explanatory  answers  that  such 
studies  are  of  such  value  in  mental  discipline. 
Etymology  may  be  made  a  means  of  training  in  the 
comparative  method,  and  may  6erve  to  introduce 
conceptions  of  development.  By  this  means,  also, 
information  of  social  value  and  import  may  be 
introduced,  and  the  mental  horizon  widened.  All  of 
these  foreign  languages,  Latin,  French,  and  German, 
open  up  great  and  wide  literatures,  though  few  there 
be  that  find  them.  Here,  however,  Greek  takes 
precedence  of  any.  For  the  encouragement  and 
stimulation  of  an  appreciation  of  literary  form  at  its 
very  best,   Greek  stands  unrivalled.     But   of  those 


176  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

who  learn  Greek  at  school,  how  few  reach  anything 
like  a  full  appreciation  of  the  literary  wealth  thus 
placed  within  their  reach,  and  how  few  find  time  to 
keep  up  their  acquaintance  with  the  language.  Greek 
is  taking  its  position  as  a  language  the  adequate 
study  of  which  is  not  for  the  many  but  for  the  few. 
Concerning  mathematics,  the  branch  of  study  that 
deals  with  numerical  and  quantitative  relations,  little 
need  be  said.  Its  great  value,  both  from  the  point 
of  view  of  mental  training  and  discipline,  and  from 
that  of  utility,  both  commercial  and  intellectual,  is 
admitted  by  all.  It  is  typically  exact,  and  fosters 
accuracy  of  thought ;  and  this  thought  is  expressible 
by  means  of  a  special  language  or  notation  of  cor- 
responding exactness.  It  affords  admirable  illustra- 
tion of  abstraction  and  generalization  in  close  com- 
bination ;  but  its  generalizations  admit  of  being  readily 
particularized  in  examples.  The  teacher  should, 
so  soon  as  the  mental  powers  of  his  pupils  are  ripe  for 
it,  illustrate  by  means  of  mathematics  the  nature  of 
abstract  and  general  ideas  ;  and  the  relation  of  these 
ideas,  as  abstract  and  general,  to  the  particular  cases 
in  which  they  are  exemplified.  It  is  a  subject,  how- 
ever, which  in  its  higher  ranges  makes  great  demands 
on  the  memory ;  but  at  the  same  time  trains  the 
faculty  of  systematic  recollection.  It  emphasizes  the 
logical  relationship,  and  is  of  immense  value  in  aiding 
the  pupil  to  conceive  and  perceive  the  "  therefore. " 
An  exercise  of  some  value  for  those  who  are  sufficiently 
advanced  is  to  translate  examples  of  geometrical 
reasoning,  such  as  propositions  of  Euclid,  into  logical 
form.  Or  this  may  be  brought  out  less  formally 
by  a  continual  asking  of  the  question  (<  Why  ?  "  and  no 


LANGUAGE  AND  THOUGHT       177 

subject  lends  itself  better  to  the  training  of  the  u  why  " 
attitude  than  mathematics.  The  mathematical  train 
of  reasoning  is  apt  to  get  a  long  way  from  the 
fundamental  generalization,  and  a  series  of  "whys" 
are  necessary  to  bring  us  down  to  these  founda- 
tions. 

Geometry  is  of  especial  value  in  bringing  home  to 
the  eye  in  perception  certain  abstract  and  general 
numerical  and  quantitative  relations  ;  those  who  ex- 
cel in  applied  mathematics  having  often  a  special 
aptitude  in  translating  the  problems  with  which  they 
have  to  deal  into  geometrical  form.  It  is  often  ex- 
ceedingly helpful  to  bring  home  to  the  eye,  by  means 
of  visible  space-relations  that  can  be  readily  perceived, 
quantitative  relations  which  could  not  be  directly 
perceived.  For  example,  the  fluctuations  in  the 
value  of  the  rupee  between  1884  and  1893  are  brought 
home  to  the  eye  in  the  figure  on  p.  178  ;  while  in  the 
figure  on  p.  179,  the  space,  in  feet,  passed  over  by  a 
body  falling  under  the  uniformly  accelerating  force 
of  gravitation,  at  the  end  of  the  first,  second,  and 
third  seconds  and  the  intervening  half-seconds,  is 
shown  by  firm  lines  ;  the  velocity  acquired  at  the 
end  of  each  second  and  half-second  is  shown  by 
broken  lines.  This  method  of  diagrammatic  represen- 
tation is  often  a  great  aid  to  the  apprehension  of  de- 
scription dealing  with  quantitative  relations,  and  to 
the  comprehension  of  an  explanation  of  the  facts 
described.  The  teacher  should  make  himself  familar 
with  its  use.  Two  lines  are  drawn  at  right  angles. 
The  vertical  line  is  used  as  a  scale  for  the  quantita- 
tive relations  to  be  perceived.  In  the  diagram  on  p. 
178  it  is  a  scale  of  value,  marked  off  in  pence  and 

12 


178  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 


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LANGUAGE  AND  THOUGHT       179 


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180      PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

shillings,  each  division  representing  one  penny.  In 
the  diagram  on  p.  179  it  is  a  scale  of  feet,  each  division 
representing  four  feet.  Along  the  horizontal  line 
are  arranged  the  facts  described.  If,  as  is  often  the 
case,  they  are  described  as  occurring  at  definite  time- 
intervals,  these  intervals  should  be  placed  to  scale 
along  the  line.  On  p.  178  the  intervals  are  years. 
On  p.  179  they  are  half -seconds.  Perpendiculars  are 
drawn  to  scale  over  the  position  of  each  fact 
described.  Thus,  over  1884,  on  p.  178,  the  average 
value  of  the  rupee  in  that  year,  one  shilling  and 
sevenpence  halfpenny,  is  represented  to  scale ;  and 
over  1893,  the  value  in  that  year,  one  and  twopence 
halfpenny,  is  similarly  represented.  Thus,  too,  over 
one  second  on  p.  179,  16  feet,  the  space  passed  over 
in  one  second,  and  32  feet,  the  velocity  at  the  end  of 
that  second,  are  represented  to  scale  ;  and  over  three 
seconds,  144  feet,  the  space  passed  over  in  that  time, 
and  96  feet,  the  velocity  acquired  at  the  end  of  that 
second,  are  similarly  represented.  If  in  this  diagram 
the  upper  ends  of  the  broken  lines  be  joined  by  a 
straight  line,  and  the  upper  ends  of  the  firm  lines  be 
joined  by  a  curve,  the  uniformity  of  increase  in  both 
cases  is  brought  home  to  the  eye,  the  increase  in  the 
velocities  being  in  arithmetical  progression,  while  the 
increase  in  the  spaces  passed  over  is  in  geometrical 
progression.  And  thus  the  generalizations,  v  =  32t 
and  s  =  16f,  may  be  led  up  to.  It  will  be  noticed 
in  the  diagram  on  p.  178,  that  while  the  value  of  the 
rupee  fell  from  1884  to  1888  and  1889,  it  rose  in  1890. 
This  should  at  once  suggest  the  question,  Why  ?  It 
was,  we  are  told,  a  temporary  rise,  of  brief  duration, 
due  to  the  action  of  the  United  States  Government 


LANGUAGE  AND  THOUGHT       181 

in  buying  up  silver  with  the  object  of  maintaining 
the  level  of  its  value  as  compared  with  gold.  And  it 
is  one  of  the  generalizations  of  political  economy  that 
increased  demand  is  accompanied  by  a  rise  in  price. 
Enough  lias  now  been  said  to  enable  the  teacher  to 
understand  the  method  of  diagrammatic  representa- 
tion, or  the  graphic  method,  as  it  is  often  termed. 

Incidental  reference  has  already  frequently  been 
made  to  the  use  of  science  in  mental  training.  In 
the  early  stages  of  education  it  should  be  purely 
observational  or  experimental  and  descriptive;  and 
it  must  throughout  be  thoroughly  practical.  For 
observation  by  itself,  elementary  botany  ;  for  ob- 
servation with  experiment,  elementary  physics  and 
chemistry  are  best.  Our  aim  is  to  make  the  pupil 
perceive  for  himself  natural  relationships.  Later  on 
simple  generalization  will  follow.  But  the  uttermost 
care  on  the  part  of  the  teacher  is  needed  to  avoid,  on 
the  one  hand,  introducing  explanations  beyond  the 
powers  of  his  pupils,  and,  on  the  other  hand,  let- 
ting the  so-called  science  degenerate  into  mere  rule- 
of-thumb  work.  Invaluable  as  a  real  training  in 
elementary  science  is  in  education,  we  have  to  be 
constantly  on  our  guard  lest  it  sink  to  the  level  of 
mere  memory  work,  dealing  with  a  number  of  terms 
and  phrases  which  have  only  what  we  call  indirect 
significance,  supplemented  by  some  testing  of  solu- 
tions to  give  an  appearance  of  practical  value. 

The  direct  educational  value  of  history  is  to  widen 
the  mental  horizon.  It  should,  in  the  early  stages  of 
education,  be  picturesque  and  anecdotal.  It  should 
carry  with  it  a  considerable  body  of  emotional  tone  ; 
and  it  should  be  charged,  not  obtrusively,  of  course, 


182      PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

but  quite  insensibly,  with  moral  purpose ;  for  its 
value  to  a  great  extent  lies  in  its  social  influence. 
One  of  the  chief  difficulties  in  teaching  children 
history  is  to  afford  anything  like  a  realizing  idea  of 
time-relations,  and  of  what  we  may  call  time-pro- 
portion. This  involves  what  is  called  localization  in 
time.  The  child  should  first  be  taught  to  localize 
events  in  his  own  experience.  I  would  suggest  to 
the  teacher  of  young  children  to  try  the  following 
plan.  Get,  or  make,  a  long  strip  of  paper.  Tell 
your  pupils  that  you  are  going  to  keep  a  record,  day 
by  day,  of  the  events  of  the  week.  Write  down  these 
events,  the  lessons  learned,  the  games  played,  the  walks 
taken,  anything  that  interests  them,  from  below  up- 
wards, beginning  at  the  bottom  of  the  strip,  and  mark- 
ing the  day — morning,  afternoon,  and  evening.  At 
the  end  of  the  week,  tell  them  that  you  are  going  to 
show  them  the  record.  Hang  the  strip  over  the  back 
of  a  chair,  bidding  them  stand  in  front,  and  then  pull 
the  paper  slowly  over  so  that  the  record  of  event  after 
event  comes  in  due  order  of  succession  into  view. 
They  will — so  I  am  told  by  teachers  who  have  tried 
the  plan — be  delighted  at  seeing  the  record  of  the 
week's  events  pass  before  them  in  a  few  minutes. 
They  will  thus  get  an  idea  of  a  condensed  time- 
record — the  week's  events  being  condensed  into  five 
minutes.  They  will  soon  be  able  to  localize  the 
events  in  the  week — such  localization  being  a  percep- 
tion of  the  time-relation  of  the  event  in  question  to 
other  events.  A  similar  record-scroll  may  be  made 
to  represent  the  chief  events  of  their  life,  And  thus 
we  may  lead  up  to  historical  record-scrolls;  and  our 
pupils  may  be  taught  to  localize  events  in  historical 


LANGUAGE  AND  THOUGHT       183 

time.  The  days  of  the  week  in  our  first  scroll  rep- 
resent the  dates  in  our  historical  scroll.  But  it  must 
be  remembered  that  dates  are  symbolic  of  time  local- 
ization, and  until  the  child  can  localize  in  time  are 
meaningless.  No  doubt,  at  a  somewhat  later  stage, 
the  dates  of  the  salient  events  of  history  should  be 
committed  to  memory  as  reference  points  for  time- 
localization  ;  but  this  should  not  be  permitted  until 
such  dates  have  acquired  moaning. 

It  was  noted  just  now  that  the  study  of  history  had 
a  moral  value.  This  perhaps  comes  out  most  clearly 
when  we  pass  from  the  descriptive  to  the  explanatory 
stage,  for  then  we  have  to  consider  the  motives  for 
conduct  and  action.  History  in  the  explanatory  stage 
is  a  subject  rather  for  university  than  for  secondary 
education.  The  schoolboy,  and  this  is  true  also  to  a 
large  extent  of  the  undergraduate,  has  too  little  ex- 
perience of  the  world  for  the  great  facts  of  history 
to  assume  for  him  their  true  significance  ;  hence  it  is 
not  till  we  reach  mature  years  that  the  real  bearing  and 
full  value  of  historical  study  begins  to  appear. 

Under  the  heading  of  geography  we  teach  localiza- 
tion in  space  by  means  of  maps,  which  condense  within 
the  reach  of  visual  perception  space-relations  too  wide 
to  be  embraced  by  the  eye.  As  localization  in  time 
should  be  taught  to  little  children  by  the  aid  of  events 
which  fall  within  their  individual  experience,  so 
should  localization  in  space  be  taught  by  the  aid  of 
areas  of  which  the  child  has  such  experience.  When 
a  child  can  understand  a  map  of  the  garden  or  play- 
ground, and  of  his  own  village,  or  a  part  of  the  town 
in  which  he  lives,  he  is  prepared  to  understand  a  map 
of  the   county  or  kingdom.     But  the   geographical 


184  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

conceptions  of  a  stay-at-home  child  are  probably  very 
vague.  Under  the  head  of  geography  is  also  conveyed 
a  more  or  less  miscellaneous  mass  of  general  informa- 
tion concerning  other  lands  from  the  historical,  polit- 
ical, commercial,  or  social  point  of  view.  This  has 
very  little  value  as  mental  discipline  ;  its  value,  like 
that  of  history,  lies  mainly  in  the  fact  that  it  widens 
the  mental  horizon  and  is  of  social  import.  Under 
the  head  of  physical  geography  we  describe  and  ex- 
plain the  manner  in  which  the  physical  features  of 
the  earth  have  been  produced.  It  is  of  little  value 
(except  as  information)  unless  associated  with  pre- 
vious or  concurrent  training  in  elementary  science. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  add  that  education  is 
incomplete  unless  there  is  a  training  in  skill  both  in 
the  use  of  the  delicate  finger  muscles  and  in  that  of 
the  larger  and  coarser  body  muscles. 

In  all  subjects,  with  the  exception  of  that  of  skill, 
it  is  essential  that  there  should  be  concurrent  train- 
ing in  language  and  thought ;  and  that  both  concep- 
tions and  the  words  by  which  they  are  expressed 
should  be,  as  far  as  possible,  directly  and  not  merely 
indirectly  significant. 


CHAPTER  IX 

LITERATURE 

It  has  already  been  shown  that  mental  develop- 
ment is  an  individual  matter  ;  that  the  mind  of  a 
child,  like  his  body,  grows  in  virtue  of  an  innate  and 
inherent  synthetic  tendency  ;  and  that  all  the  teacher 
can  profitably  hope  to  do  is  to  supply  the  most  favor- 
able conditions  for  growth  and  development.  And 
if  this  is  true  of  the  mind  in  its  cognitive  aspect,  it 
is  equally,  and  perhaps  more  obviously,  true  of  emo- 
tional development.  We  will  take  literature  as  our 
example  of  the  wide  field  of  artistic  culture.  And 
here  we  feel  to  the  full  our  helplessness  to  do  more 
than  minister  to  nature.  If  there  be  no  inborn  faculty 
of  appreciation  for  literature,  we  cannot  hope  to  im- 
plant it  by  any  method  of  instruction  ;  and  if  such 
faculty  be  given,  all  that  we  can  do  is  to  afford  the 
material  and  the  opportunities  for  its  ripening  and 
maturing. 

There  would  seem  to  be  some  people  who,  in  adult 
life,  have  little  or  no  appreciation  of  literal  are.  They 
see,  for  example,  nothing  particular  to  admire  in 
Tennyson's  beautiful  lines — 

11  And  Morn 
Has  lifted  the  dark  eyelash  of  the  Night 
From  off  the  rosy  cheek  of  waking  Day  ;  " 

or  in  such  lines  as  those  of  Lowell's — 

185 


186      PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

"  The  rich  buttercup 
Its  tiny  polished  urn  holds  up, 
Filled  with  ripe  summer  to  the  edge." 

And  if  they  do  not  feel  the  beauty  of  such  passages, 
what  can  we  do  ?  It  will  certainly  be  of  little  avail 
to  try  to  describe  and  explain — even  if  it  admitted  of 
explanation — wherein  the  beauty  lies.  He  who  is 
wise  will  change  the  subject.  But  with  children  it 
is  our  duty  to  foster  their  appreciation.  And  for- 
tunately there  are  few  children  in  whom  there  are  no 
germs  of  appreciation  which  may  be  so  fostered.  In 
most  cases  the  absence  of  receptive  imagination  in 
grown-up  people  is  due  to  the  fact  that  in  them  the 
germs  have  never  been  cultivated,  or  the  young  shoots 
of  imaginative  appreciation  have  died  down  and 
withered  in  the  sterile  soil  of  their  daily  life.  But 
the  ministry  of  the  teacher  is  here  peculiarly  difficult ; 
for  what  the  child  is  capable  of  appreciating  is  often 
very  different  from  what  the  teacher  himself  appreci- 
ates. Certain  it  is,  however,  that  if  the  teacher  have 
never  cultivated  his  own  faculty  of  appreciation,  he 
will  be  little  able  to  render  efficient  service  to  his 
pupils  in  this  respect.  Hence  his  aim  should  be  so 
to  establish  a  mental  background  of  appreciation  in 
himself  that  he  may  be  able  insensibly  to  influence 
in  a  similar  manner  the  minds  of  those  who  are  com- 
mitted to  his  care. 

In  our  elementary  education  a  good  deal  of  stress 
is  rightly  laid  on  recitation.  This  affords  material  in 
and  through  which  appreciation  may  be  trained.  But 
the  mere  getting  by  heart  of  the  poetry  which  is 
recited  is  the  least  important  part,  in  educational 
value,  of  recitation.     At  first,  no  doubt,  the  child 


LITERATURE  187 

must  devote  all  his  efforts  to  learning  his  piece  by 
rote.  But  the  true  criterion  of  excellence  in  recita- 
tion is  not  merely  that  it  should  be  word-perfect,  but 
that  it  should  show  that  the  reciter  has  entered  into 
the  spirit  of  that  which  he  recites.  And  he  should 
be  early  made  to  understand  that  correct  manner  and 
method  are  certainly  not  less  important  than  correct 
matter.  Here  demonstration  is  of  far  more  service 
than  description.  The  teacher  must  himself  be  able 
so  to  recite  or  read  as  to  show  how  the  spirit  of  the 
piece  may  be  brought  out.  At  first  the  manner  and 
method  of  the  child  will  have  little  individuality ; 
they  are  based,  through  imitation,  on  the  manner 
and  method  of  the  teacher.  But  it  is  surprising  how 
soon  the  individuality  of  the  child  makes  itself  felt  ; 
and  such  individuality  should  be  encouraged  so  long 
as  it  does  not  run  into  mannerism.  As  the  pupil 
thus  becomes  independent  of  the  teacher,  he  is  able 
more  and  more  clearly  to  show  the  extent  to  which 
he  appreciates  that  which  he  recites. 

To  the  recitation  of  poetry  should  be  added  prac- 
tice in  reading  aloud,  not  only  poetry  of  varied  metre, 
but  good  literary  prose.  Thus  fresh  materia]  will  be 
supplied  on  which  the  developing  faculty  of  appre- 
ciation may  be  exercised.  The  usual  plan  in  En- 
glish secondary  and  public  schools  is  to  drop  all  re- 
citation and  reading  of  the  literature  of  his  own 
language  just  at  the  time  when  the  boy's  appreciation 
is  so  far  developed  as  to  enable  him  to  enter  into  the 
spirit  of  the  work  of  the  best  masters.  It  is  true  that 
a  play  of  Shakespeare  or  one  of  the  "Idylls  of  the 
King"  or  other  set  piece  is  prepared  with  the  aid  of 
copious  notes  ;  and  an  examination  is  set  which  deals 


188      PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

with  text  and  notes.  But  from  the  nature  of  the 
case  the  examination  paper  deals  with  them  entirely 
in  their  cog?iitive  aspect.  Look  through  such  a  paper 
and  what  do  you  find  ?  A  series  of  questions  set,  ap- 
parently, with  the  object  of  ascertaining  how  much 
general  information  concerning  the  subject  matter  of 
the  piece,  or  suggested  thereby,  the  boy  remembers. 
All  this  is,  no  doubt,  useful.  But  it  is  no  test  of 
literary  appreciation — a  matter  which  no  examination 
paper  can  adequately  gauge,  and  hence  a  matter  too 
apt  nowadays  to  be  neglected. 

It  forms,  however,  no  part  of  my  present  purpose 
either  to  criticise  existing  methods  of  education  or  to 
suggest  practical  reforms.  I  can  but  indicate  what 
appears  to  me  necessary  for  the  training  of  faculty. 
The  problem  is  :  Given  a  faculty  of  appreciation, 
which  answers  on  the  part  of  the  recipient  to  the 
creative  faculty  on  the  part  of  the  literary  artist,  how 
are  we  to  train  it  ?  By  all  means  let  us  render  assis- 
tance in  the  apprehension  and  comprehension  of  that 
which  our  author  has  written.  In  this  we  cannot  be 
too  thorough.  But,  after  all,  it  is  not  herein  that 
appreciation  lies.  Nor  can  we  expect  a  boy  to  de- 
scribe his  appreciation  ;  as  well  ask  him  to  describe 
his  appreciation  of  a  fully  ripe  peach.  But  we  may 
expect  him  to  give  expression  to  that  appreciation 
through  the  reading  of  selected  passages  from  his 
author.  And  we  may  and  should  teach  him  so  to 
use  his  faculty  of  speech  as  to  reflect  the  beauty  of 
the  literature  he  appreciates.  Thus  only  can  he  show 
us  how  far  his  receptive  imagination  answers  to  the 
creative  imagination  of  the  author  he  interprets. 

The  term  ' ' imagination"  like  so  many  others  in 


LITERATURE  189 

psychology,  is  used  in  different  senses  by  different 
writers.  It  is  well  to  use  it  to  denote  the  synthetic 
faculty  by  which  ideas  are  recornbined  to  form  new 
products.  The  phrase  "passive  imagination"  is 
sometimes  used  for  the  unconscious  and  unintentional 
recombination  of  ideas  ;  while  "  active  imagination  "  is 
used  for  their  conscious  and  intentional  recombination. 
The  distinction  is,  however,  hard  to  preserve.  It  is 
characteristic  of  genius  that  the  riches  of  imagination 
seem  to  pour  forth  unbidden  and  without  conscious 
effort.  Nor  can  the  mind  under  such  circumstances 
be  well  called  passive.  We  may  distinguish  between 
three  uses  of  the  imagination.  In  scientific  imagina- 
tion the  recombination  of  ideas  is  for  purposes  of 
explanation  ;  the  end  in  view  being  intellectual,  and 
the  attainment  of  knowledge.  In  inventive  imagina- 
tion the  recombination  of  ideas  is  for  purposes  of 
mechanical  construction  ;  the  end  in  view  being  prac- 
tical, and  the  aim,  utility.  In  artistic  imagination 
the  recombinaton  of  ideas  is  for  purposes  of  art ;  the 
end  in  view  being  aesthetic,  and  the  aim,  beauty.  A 
further  distinction — one  that  applies  to  all  these  uses 
— is  that  between  the  creative  imagination  of  the 
man  of  science,  the  inventor,  or  the  artist,  and  the 
receptive  imagination  through  which  we  respond  to  his 
creative  synthesis.  The  appreciation  of  which  we 
have  been  speaking  involves  receptive  imagination. 
The  creative  imagination  of  the  poet  is  quite  lost 
upon  the  reader  or  hearer  who  has  no  kindred  re- 
ceptivity. Hence  the  appreciation  of  imaginative  lit- 
erature presupposes  a  faculty  which  shall  go  out  to 
meet  and  embrace  the  creative  product  of  the  artist. 
People  of  little  imagination  regard  the  similes  and 


190      PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

metaphors  of  the  poet  as  far-fetched  and  extravagant. 
Why  should  Tennyson  speak  of  the  "dark  eyelash" 
of  the  night,  or  the  "rosy  cheek  "of  morn  ?  What 
could  have  induced  Lowell  to  call  the  flower  of  a 
buttercup  an  "  urn, "  and  to  say  that  it  was  filled 
with  "  ripe  summer  "  ?  For  the  lack  of  imagination 
in  many  of  us — especially  men — education  rather 
than  nature  is  answerable.  Children  generally  revel 
in  fairy  tales  and  delightfuly  improbable  stories  of 
adventure.  But  there  are  some  parents  and  teachers 
who  check  all  such  reading  ;  it  is  not  practical,  and 
will  be  of  no  service  in  this  busy,  workaday  world. 
Moreover,  during  school-life  the  boy  has  generally 
very  little  spare  time  for  the  reading  of  imaginative 
literature.  The  curriculum  is  so  arranged  that,  when 
the  daily  routine  of  work  and  games  has  been  duly 
fulfilled,  there  are  but  few  odd  moments  left  to  devote 
to  the  novel  or  the  drama.  Even  the  holidays  have 
their  set  task  of  some  book  on  which  the  inevitable 
examination,  optional  or  compulsory,  is  held.  No 
doubt  there  are  good  reasons  for  this  course.  No 
doubt,  if  much  spare  time  were  left,  but  few  boys 
would  devote  it  to  good  literature  ;  and  these  few 
may  be  trusted  to  make  or  steal  the  time  if  they 
have  a  real  bent  for  literature.  But  the  fact  re- 
mains that  the  many  do  not  cultivate  their  imagina- 
tive faculty. 

There  is  one  further  fact  concerning  imagination 
in  literature  which  may  be  noted,  since  it  illustrates 
in  a  new  way  what  was  said  concerning  the  relation 
of  the  general  to  the  particular,  and  of  conception  to 
perception.  In  literature,  as  in  art-product,  general- 
ization takes  the  form  of  idealism  ;  particularization, 


LITERATURE  191 

that  of  realism.  The  ideal  in  art  involves  abstraction 
and  generalization — abstraction  in  the  omission  of 
all  details  which  are  not  necessary  to  the  idealized 
product  ;  generalization  of  the  essential  features 
reached  by  abstraction.  Realism,  on  the  other  hand, 
involves  the  introduction  of  such  details  as  shall  as- 
similate the  representation  to  actual  fact,  and  the 
incorporation  of  the  results  of  generalization  in 
individual  persons  or  concrete  things.  Utter  realism 
would  be  the  exact  portrayal  of  life  and  nature  as  it 
is,  with  no  trivial  detail  omitted.  In  the  first  place, 
this  is  not  possible  ;  in  the  second  place,  it  is  not  art. 
What  is  meant  by  realism  in  art  or  literature  is  there- 
fore the  introduction  of  so  much  detail  as  shall 
make  the  ideal  representation  lifelike  and  natural. 
What  the  artist,  literary  or  other,  aims  at  is  the  due 
balance  between  idealism  and  realism.  The  ideal  con- 
ception of  the  creative  imagination  has  to  be  embodied 
in  particular  form  ;  and  Hamlet,  Monkbarns,  or  Tito 
stand  before  us. 

The  subject  matter  of  literature  is  as  varied  as  are 
human  interests.  In  it  are  reflected  all  the  aspects 
of  external  nature  that  appeal  to  us  as  human  beings, 
all  the  phases  of  human  life  and  endeavor,  and  all 
the  yeanlings  and  passions  of  the  human  soul.  All 
that  we  see  and  know,  all  that  we  hope  and  believe, 
all  that  we  fancy  and  imagine,  are  reflected  in  litera- 
ture. It  is  quite  impossible,  therefore,  to  define 
literature  as  a  whole  by  its  subject  matter.  Nor  is 
this  subject  matter  in  any  way  definitely  marked  off 
from  that  of  science.  Neither  literature  nor  science 
can  claim  a  monopoly  of  any  group  of  natural  phe- 
nomena.    Man  and  nature  afford  subject  matter  to 


192      PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

both.  And  our  own  century  has  witnessed  science, 
on  the  one  hand,  endeavoring  with  increasing  suc- 
cess to  justify  the  application  of  its  canons  to  the 
study  of  man,  and  literature,  on  the  other  hand, 
turning  with  increasing  sympathy  for  inspiration  to 
the  realm  of  nature.  It  is  not  in  their  subject 
matter  broadly  considered  that  literature  and  science 
differ,  it  is  in  their  attitude  and  spirit  and  pur- 
pose. 

Now,  since  different  men  and  women  have  dif- 
ferent interests,  and  derive  their  pleasure  from  dif- 
ferent sources,  there  are  many  kinds  of  literature. 
Nor  is  there  one  kind  of  literary  excellence,  but 
many.  This  is  implied  by  the  adjectives  we  use  : 
sublime,  majestic,  grand  ;  tender  and  pathetic  ; 
exciting,  thrilling  ;  humorous,  witty,  comic  ;  and  so 
forth.  We  do  not,  or  should  not,  apply  the  epithets 
"  beautiful n  and  " pretty"  to  the  same  piece.  And 
this  implies  a  variety  in  our  appreciation.  The 
same  kind  of  literature  does  not  appeal  in  like 
degree  to  all  of  us,  nor  indeed  in  the  same  way  to 
any  one  of  us  in  his  different  moods.  These  facts 
must  be  steadily  borne  in  mind  by  the  teacher. 
He  must  remember  that  what  appeals  strongly  to  him 
at  his  stage  of  mental  development  may  not  appeal 
at  all  to  his  pupil,  who  is  at  an  earlier  stage.  If  he 
attempts  in  any  way  to  force  upon  an  immature  mind 
an  appreciation  unsuitable  to  its  stage  of  develop- 
ment, he  may  either  prejudice  the  pupil  for  life 
against  that  type  of  literature,  or  encourage  a  sham 
appreciation,  than  which  nothing  is  unfortunately 
more  common  or  more  silly.  What  he  has  to  do 
is   to  educate  the   appreciation,  leading   it  on  step 


LITERATURE  193 

by  step  in  its  upward  development.  He  must  re- 
member, too,  that  his  aim  is  to  minister  to  all-round 
mental  development.  He  should  endeavor  to  culti- 
vate an  appreciation  of  literary  excellence  in  all 
its  phases.  The  majestic  verse  of  Milton  and  of 
Wordsworth  at  his  best ;  the  polished  excellence  of 
Tennyson,  and  the  concentration  and  dramatic  power 
of  Browning ;  the  broad  humanity  of  Shakespeare 
and  of  Scott ;  the  humor  and  pathos  which  find  such 
different  expression  in  Thackeray  and  Dickens  ;  the 
strength  of  George  Eliot  and  the  delicacy  of  Elizabeth 
Browning  ;  the  word-painting  of  Ruskin  and  Carlyle, 
the  wit  of  Tom  Hood,  and  the  delicate  humor  of 
Charles  Lamb, — all  these  should  have  their  chance  of 
appealing  to  a  mind  that  has  had  an  all-round  educa- 
tion in  appreciation.  And  since  we  must  distinguish 
between  our  lower  and  our  higher  interests  ;  between 
the  pleasures  which  are  mean,  trivial,  or  sordid,  and 
those  which  are  ennobling,  and  appeal  to  what  we 
feel  to  be  the  better  side  of  our  nature  ;  so  we  should 
encourage  our  pupils  to  appreciate  best  that  litera- 
ture which  appeals  to  lasting  and  enduring  interests, 
to  those  pleasures  which  are  ours  in  virtue  of  our  dis- 
tinctive humanity. 

Literary  form  appeals  primarily  to  the  ear,  and  we 
should  endeavor  to  cultivate  a  due  sense  and  appre- 
ciation of  the  melody  of  literature.  Even  when  we 
read  to  ourselves,  the  element  of  sound  is  not  ab- 
sent, but  accompanies  re-presentatively  that  which 
is  presentatively  given  to  the  eye.  In  early  days  be- 
fore the  invention  of  printing,  the  appeal  of  the  poet 
was  mainly  to  the  ears  of  an  audience  :  now  it  is 
more  largely  to  a  circle  of  readers.  And  since  the  eye 
J3 


194      PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

can  take  in  a  more  complex  and  longer  sentence  than 
the  ear — since,  too,  the  reader  in  his  study  can  pause 
and  go  over  a  passage  again  if  he  have  not  caught  its 
rhythm  or  its  meaning — some  modern  poetry  has  be- 
come too  complicated  and  involved  for  the  ear  to 
follow.  Few,  for  example,  could  grasp  on  first  hear- 
ing, or  indeed  on  first  reading,  the  following  passage 

from  "  Sordello  " — 

"  While 
Crowd  upon  crowd  rose  on  Sordello  thus — 
(Crowds  no  way  interfering  to  discuss, 
Much  less  dispute,  life's  joys  with  one  employed 
In  envying  them, — or,  if  they  ought  enjoyed, 
Where  lingered  something  indefinable 
In  every  look  and  tone,  the  mirth  as  well 
As  woe,  that  fixed  at  once  his  estimate 
Of  the  result,  their  good  or  bad  estate) — 
Or  memories  returned  with  new  effect." 

Judged  by  the  appeal  to  the  ear,  such  a  passage 
stands  condemned.  And,  at  any  rate  for  the  pur- 
poses of  education,  the  appeal  to  the  ear  is  the  surest 
criterion  of  excellence  in  literary  form.  To  the  ap- 
peal to  the  ear,  however,  an  appeal  to  the  voice  should 
be  added.  Hence  the  great  and,  in  secondary  edu- 
cation, too  little  recognized  importance  of  reading 
aloud.  I  revert  to  this  because  it  is,  in  my  judg- 
ment, of  great  value  in  the  training  of  the  faculty  of 
appreciation,  while  it  is  also  a  delightful  accomplish- 
ment. How  few  Englishmen  of  average  education 
are  capable  of  reading  effectively  a  passage  in  prose 
or  verse  so  as  to  bring  out  its  rhythm  and  melody, 
its  delicacy  or  its  force.  And  though  a  man's  powers 
of  elocution  are  not  necessarily  an  index  of  his  faculty 
of  appreciation,  yet  this  is  the  most  expressive  means 


LITERATURE  195 

at  his  command  for  showing  his  appreciation.  If, 
too,  there  is  any  truth  in  what  has  before  been  urged, 
that  language  and  thought  develop  hand  in  hand,  we 
may  fairly  expect  that  appreciation  and  its  expression 
should  so  act  and  react  upon  each  other  as  to  facili- 
tate the  concurrent  development  of  both. 

We  cannot  here  consider  at  any  length  how  the 
child  should  be  trained  to  use  aright  his  gift  of  speech 
for  purposes  of  reading  and  recitation.  As  before 
noted,  demonstration  is  here  of  far  more  value  than 
description.  The  child  must  be  shown — not  told — 
how  to  read  well.  The  articulation  must  be  clear 
and  distinct,  free  from  provincialism  and  mannerism. 
Rate  of  utterance  and  emphasis  must  be  duly  graded. 
And  the  melody  of  intonation  must  subtly  indicate 
a  sense  of  harmony  between  the  thought  and  its  ex- 
pression. Sing-song  in  repetition  or  reading  must 
be  checked  at  all  hazards.  Unfortunately,  much  of 
the  simple  poetry  for  children  lends  itself  all  too 
readily  to  sing-song.  Hence  the  pupil  should  be 
taught  to  read  prose  with  due  intonation.  It  is 
easier  to  read  well  good  blank  verse  than  the  rhymed 
couplet.  The  pupil  should  also  be  taught  to  distin- 
guish clearly  between  the  rhythm  and  melody  of 
poetry  and  that  of  prose,  and  should  be  led  to  fed 
that  the  difference  lies  a  good  deal  deeper  than  the 
way  in  which  the  lines  are  written  or  printed.  A 
prose  author  may  consciously  or  unconsciously  fall 
into  the  rhythm  of  poetry — a  fault  from  which  even 
Dickens  is  not  free.  Mr.  Blackmore,  for  example, 
in  Lorna  Doone,  writes  :  "  All  that  in  my  presence 
dwelt,  all  that  in  my  heart  was  felt,  was  the  maiden 
moving  gently,  and  afraid  to  look  at  me."     This  is 


196      PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

not  true  prose  melody,  but  the  rhythm  of  verse.  On 
the  other  hand,  uniformity  in  the  length  of  the  lines 
does  not  constitute  poetry,  though  some  definite 
schematic  sequence  is  almost,  if  not  quite,  essential. 
The  American  poet  Walt  Whitman  shook  himself 
almost  entirely  free  of  all  the  trammels  of  metre. 
Both  in  thought  and  expression,  much  that  he  wrote 
has  great  beauty,  but  it  is  difficult  to  read  aloud 
effectively.  I  may  perhaps  be  allowed  to  quote  one 
short  piece — 


Had  I  the  choice  to  tally  greatest  bards, 

To  limn  their  portraits,  stately,  beautiful,  and  emulate  at 

will 
Homer  with  all  his  wars  and  warriors,  Hector,  Achilles, 

Ajax, 
Or  Shakespeare's  woe-estranged  Hamlet,  Lear,  Othello — 

Tennyson's  fair  ladies — 
Metre  or  wit  the  best,  or  choice  conceit  to  wield  in  perfect 

rhyme,  delight  of  singers  ; 
These,  these,  O  sea,  all  these  I'd  gladly  barter, 
Would  you  the  undulation  of  one  wave,  its  trick  to  me 

transfer, 
Or  breathe  one  breath  of  yours  upon  my  verse 
And  leave  its  odor  there." 


Here,  where  he  is  most  effective,  in  the  last  four  lines, 
he  departs  least  widely  from  the  traditional  poetic 
form. 

The  pupil  should  always  be  allowed  to  read  over 
carefully  to  himself  any  passage  he  is  expected  to  read 
aloud  effectively.  It  is  quite  impossible  for  him  fully 
to  perceive  the  harmony  between  expression  and 
thought  as  he  reads.  Take,  for  example,  the  follow- 
ing five  lines  from  a  well-known  sonnet  of  Words- 


LITERATURE  197 

worth's,  which  are  admirable  in  their  delicate  har- 
mony— 

"  It  is  a  beauteous  evening,  calm  and  free  ; 
The  holy  time  is  quiet  as  a  Nun 
Breathless  with  adoration  ;  the  broad  sun 
Is  sinking  down  in  its  tranquillity  ; 
The  gentleness  of  heaven  broods  o'er  the  sea." 

It  is  not  likely  that  the  words  "breathless  with  ad- 
oration/' or  the  last  line  with  its  lingering  emphasis 
on  the  word  "  broods/'  will  be  rendered  with  due 
effect  if  the  reader  has  no  previous  acquaintance  with 
the  poem.  Nor  can  he  catch  the  spirit  of  this  intro- 
duction if  he  has  no  foreknowledge  of  the  sequel. 
Reading  at  sight  is  indeed  a  most  useful  accomplish- 
ment, which  should  be  separately  trained.  It  in- 
volves in  marked  degree  that  divided  attention  which 
was  alluded  to  in  the  second  chapter  ;  for  the  compre- 
hension of  the  meaning  as  we  read  at  sight  is  some 
way  ahead  of  the  vocal  expression.  But  this  very 
division  of  the  attention  prevents  the  expression  from 
attaining  anything  like  its  maximum  value.  It  may 
be  useful,  therefore,  to  be  able  to  read  a  poem  or  a 
piece  of  music  at  sight ;  but  it  should  be  understood 
that  this  is  no  fair  criterion  either  of  appreciation  or 
of  powers  of  expression.  What  should  we  say  of  an 
artist  who  came  forward  to  read  or  sing  in  public,  and 
who  gave  us  a  mere  at-sight  rendering  ?  But  no 
artist  worthy  the  name  would  willingly  consent  to 
do  such  gross  injustice  both  to  himself  and  to  his 
audience. 

Let  us  now  pass  on  to  consider  what  is  the  psycho- 
logical nature  of  that  appreciation  to  which  reference 


198      PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

has  so  frequently  been  made.  In  the  first  place,  we 
may  note  that  it  belongs  to  the  category  of  that 
emotional  tone  to  which  we  directed  our  attention 
in  the  chapter  of  Mental  Development.  It  is  not 
primarily  a  matter  of  cognition,  though  cognitional 
elements  may  be  present.  Hence  it  is  exceedingly 
difficult  to  define  or  describe,  since  both  definition 
and  description  are  in  terms  of  cognition.  Apprecia- 
tion is,  however,  an  example  of  a  special  kind  of 
emotional  tone — that  which  is  termed  cestlietic  tone. 
What  are  the  distinguishing  characteristics  of  aesthetic 
tone  is  a  point  on  which  psychologists  are  by  no 
means  agreed.  That  which  is  here  said  must  there- 
fore be  regarded  as  a  matter  of  individual  opinion. 
In  common  with  emotional  tone  in  general,  it  is  in 
large  degree  subconscious  and  concerns  the  mental 
background.  Or  perhaps  it  would  be  better  to  say 
that  it  concerns  the  state  of  consciousness  as  a  whole, 
both  focus  and  margin,  and  especially  the  relations 
involved.  Herein,  indeed,  lies,  in  my  opinion,  the  dis- 
tinguishing feature  of  aesthetic  tone,  as  such.  It  is 
the  emotional  tone  associated  with  those  elements  in 
consciousness  which  ice  term  relations.  It  does  not, 
therefore,  take  its  origin  until  perception  has  intro- 
duced into  the  field  of  consciousness  these  relational 
elements.  Until  we  can  perceive  the  relations  in- 
volved in  the  melody  and  harmony  of  literature,  the 
aesthetic  tone  of  appreciation  has  no  place  in  our 
consciousness. 

We  speak  in  daily  conversation  of  perceiving  the 
beauty  of  a  poetical  passage.  We  say  we  perceive  the 
beauty,  for  example,  of  Browning's  description  of  the 
awakening  of  the  water  from  its  frosty  sleep,  when — 


LITERATURE  199 

"  Early  in  autumn,  at  the  first  winter-warning, 
The  stag  had  to  break  with  his  foot,  of  a  morning, 
A  drinking-hole  out  of  the  fresh  tender  ice, 
That  covered  the  pond,  till  the  sun  in  a  trice, 
Loosening  it,  let  out  a  ripple  of  gold, 
And  another  and  another,  and  faster  and  faster, 
Till  dimpling  to  blindness,  the  wide  water  rolled." 

Such  perception  of  the  beauty  of  a  passage  may  mean 
the  perception  of  the  relation  of  the  passage  to  our 
standard  of  beauty  ;  in  which  case  it  is  a  judgment 
and  cognitive  in  its  nature.  Or  it  may,  and  gener- 
ally does,  mean  a  feeling  of  appreciation  ;  in  which 
case  it  is  the  direct  experience  of  aesthetic  tone.  What 
we  perceive,  in  the  latter  case,  is  the  series  of  rela- 
tions involved  in  the  poet's  description,  and  this  is  so 
far  cognitive.  But  this  perception  is  accompanied 
by  emotional  tone,  and  herein  lies  the  sense  of  appre- 
ciation of  such.  We  perceive,  too,  the  harmony  be- 
tween thought  and  expression,  and  the  melodious  re- 
lations of  the  words  to  each  other  in  the  rhythm  ;  and 
this  again  is  so  far  cognitive.  But  these  perceptions 
too  are  accompanied  by  emotional  tone  giving  rise  to 
our  sense  of  appreciation.  It  should  be  particularly 
noticed  that  the  aesthetic  tone,  as  such,  is  quite  dis- 
tinct from  any  intellectual  and  cognitive  process, 
though  it  is  the  emotional  accompaniment  of  that 
process  ;  just  as  the  pleasure  we  derive  from  eating  a 
good  dinner  is  quite  distinct  from,  though  it  accom- 
panies, the  nutritive  value  of  the  operation. 

The  relation  of  that  which  is  in  the  focus  of  con- 
sciousness to  the  mental  background  in  which  it  is 
set  forms  an  important  factor  in  aesthetic  tone.  This 
is  seen  in  the  employment  of  that  which  is  known  as 


200  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

suspense.  Here  a  series  of  minor  relationships  are 
presented  so  as  to  prepare  a  background  in  which 
the  emphatic  relation  shall  be  set.  An  example 
from  Macaulay's  Reform  Bill  speech  may  be  taken 
in  illustration  :  "  If,  sir,  I  wished  to  make  such  a 
foreigner  clearly  understand  what  I  consider  as  the 
great  defect  of  our  system,  I  would  conduct  him 
through  that  immense  city  which  lies  to  the  north  of 
Great  Russell  Street  and  Oxford  Street — a  city  supe- 
rior in  size  and  in  population  to  the  capitals  of  many 
mighty  kingdoms  ;  and  probably  superior  in  opulence, 
intelligence,  and  general  respectability  to  any  city  in 
the  world.  I  would  conduct  him  through  that  inter- 
minable succession  of  streets  and  squares,  all  consist- 
ing of  well-built  and  well-furnished  houses.  I  would 
make  him  observe  the  brilliancy  of  the  shops,  and  the 
crowd  of  well-appointed  equipages.  I  would  show 
him  that  magnificent  circle  of  palaces  which  surrounds 
the  Regent's  Park.  I  would  tell  him  that  the  rental 
of  this  district  was  far  greater  than  that  of  the  whole 
kingdom  of  Scotland  at  the  time  of  the  Union.  And 
then  I  would  tell  him  that  this  was  an  unrepresented 
district."  Note  how  the  background  of  conscious- 
ness is  here  prepared  for  the  final  emphatic  statement. 
And  note,  in  passing,  how  skilfully  the  author  par- 
ticularizes and  brings  the  picture  home  to  the  eye 
through  his  description. 

Nor  is  it  only  in  the  employment  of  the  figure  of 
suspense  that  the  influence  of  the  mental  background 
makes  itself  felt.  We  all  know  how  some  particular 
line  of  a  poem,  or  speech  in  a  play,  or  scene  in  a  novel, 
fails  to  carry  its  due  force  if  torn  from  its  con- 
text.    Its  full  weight  and  beauty  is  appreciated  only 


LITERATURE  201 

when  the  mental  background  has  been  prepared  by 
what  has  gone  before.  How  much  even  Portia's 
splendid  outburst,  beginning 

"  The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strained," 

loses,  if  Shylock's  question,  "  On  what  compulsion  ?" 

be  not  borne  in  mind.     Or,  to  give  but  one  further 

example,  how  tame  and  trite,  taken  by  itself,  is  the 

line, 

11  And  never  lifted  up  a  single  stone  !  " 

And  yet,  as  the  line  stands  in  Wordsworth's  idyll 
Michael ,  it  is,  at  any  rate  to  my  appreciation,  one  of 
the  most  profoundly  touching  and  pathetic  lines  in 
the  whole  range  of  our  literature.  Few  who  have  en- 
tered into  the  spirit  of  the  poem  could  read  it  aloud 
without  a  break  in  their  voice. 

We  have  all  probably  felt  the  thinness,  so  to  speak, 
of  the  earlier  chapters  of  a  novel,  especially  on  first 
reading.  There  is  as  yet  no  mental  background 
which  in  any  way  bears  upon  the  facts  which  are 
described,  and  in  which  those  facts  can  find  their  ap- 
propriate setting.  On  the  other  hand,  our  fullest 
appreciation  of  a  novel  or  drama  is  when  we  review 
it  in  memory.  The  series  of  events  are  seen  fore- 
shortened in  remembrance  ;  the  minor  events  retire 
into  the  dim  background  ;  while  the  salient  features 
of  the  devolopment  stand  out  clearly  in  their  due  re- 
lations, the  perception  of  which  is  accompanied  by 
the  aesthetic  tone  of  appreciation.  Thus,  too,  in  a 
sister  art,  Mozart  speaks  of  "  seeing  the  whole  of  it,; 
(a  piece  of  music,  even  a  long  one)  "at  a  single 
glance  of  my  mind  "  ;  and  adds,  "The  best  of  all  is 


202  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

the  hearing  of  it  all  at  once."  For  the  purpose  of 
appreciation  in  restrospect  it  is  important  that  there 
should  be  a  single  definite  development  to  which 
minor  series  of  events  are  subordinate.  When  there 
are  several  co-ordinate  series,  not  duly  related,  the 
effect  on  the  mind  is  confusing.  We  say  that  the 
novel  is  wanting  in  artistic  unity.  Silas  Mamer  is 
an  admirable  example  of  such  artistic  unity  ;  Thack- 
eray's Virginians  being  wanting  in  this  respect. 

In  saying  that  a  novel  is  wanting  in  artistic  unity, 
we  are  expressing  a  judgment.  Such  a  judgment,  it 
should  be  noted,  though  it  is  exercised  in  matters  of 
appreciation  which  are  concerned  with  the  emotional 
aspect  of  our  conscious  experience,  is  in  itself  intel- 
lectual and  cognitive.  It  involves  a  standard  of  ex- 
cellence to  which  a  particular  art-product  is  com- 
pared. The  standard  is  often  spoken  of  as  an  ideal ; 
and  such  an  ideal  is  the  product  of  reflective  generali- 
zation. It  is  the  net  result  of  all  our  appreciative 
experience.  The  act  of  judgment  is  the  perception 
of  the  relation  of  the  particular  art-product,  concern- 
ing which  an  opinion  is  expressed,  to  our  ideal 
standard.     If  we  say  that  Tennyson's  lines, 

"  So  all  day  long  the  sound  of  battle  rolFd 
Among  the  mountains  by  the  winter  sea," 

are  admirable  in  their  harmony  of  thought  and  ex- 
pression, we  are  asserting  that  they  reach  or  approach 
our  ideal  of  excellence. 

It  may  be  well  very  briefly  to  compare  an  aesthetic 
judgment  with  that  expressed  in  the  minor  premise 
of  the  syllogism.  The  logical  judgment  is  charac- 
terized by  its  definiteness.     For  example — 


LITERATURE  203 

Mammals  are  warm-blooded  ; 

A  sheep  is  a  mammal ; 
Therefore  a  sheep  is  warm-blooded. 
In  the  judgment  here  expressed  in  the  minor 
premise  we  assert  that  the  sheep  conforms  to  the 
Btandard  definition  of  a  mammal  ;  it  is  a  particular 
example  of  a  general  class.  But  in  aesthetic  judg- 
ments there  is  none  of  this  definiteness  and  logical 
exactness.  The  literary  ideal  is  something  which  is 
quite  real  and  yet  quite  undefined.  If  I  say  that  the 
following  lines  of  Rudyard  Kipling's  Seal  Lullaby 
are  excellent  in  their  kind,  I  express  a  literary  judg- 
ment— 

"  Where  billow  meets  billow,  then  soft  be  thy  pillow, 
Oh,  weary  wee  flipperling,  curl  at  thy  ease  ! 
The  storm  shall  not  wake  thee,  nor  shark  overtake  thee, 
Asleep  in  the  arms  of  the  slow-swinging  seas  !  " 

I  am  not  aware,  however,  of  having  formulated  any 
generalization  of  what  the  peculiar  excellence  of  a 
seal  lullaby  should  be  ;  and  I  certainly  am  not  pre- 
pared to  throw  my  conclusion  iuto  logical  form. 
And  this  would  seem  to  be  characteristic  of  aesthetic 
judgments  in  general.  It  is  true  that  we  can  formu- 
late some  few  canons  of  aesthetic  criticism.  But  they 
do  not  go  far  to  help  us.  And  if  some  one  asks  me, 
"  Why  do  you  regard  these  lines  of  Rudyard  Kip- 
ling's as  excellent  in  their  kind  ?"  I  can  say  but  lit- 
tle in  reply.  And  I  shall  feel  that  this  little  is  alto- 
gether inadequate.  It  is  quite  possible,  moreover, 
that  my  own  individual  ideal  may  not  coincide  with 
what  may  be  termed  the  social  ideal — using  this  term 
for  the  ideal  of  those  among  us  who  from  their  re- 


204  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

fined  and  highly  trained  faculty  of  appreciation  are 
best  fitted  to  give  an  opinion  in  questions  of  litera- 
ture. And  this  fact — that  there  is  no  absolute  uni- 
formity of  ideal — serves  further  to  illustrate  the  dis- 
tinction between  literary  and  logical  judgments. 

This  distinction  may  be  further  illustrated  by  draw- 
ing a  comparison  between  literature  and  science. 
The  primary  aim  and  object  of  science  is  to  explain 
phenomena  ;  its  excellencies  are  accuracy,  organiza- 
tion, and  rigid  logical  sequence.  It  might  be  de- 
scribed as  a  concatenation  of  "  therefores."  On  the 
other  hand,  the  aim  and  object  of  literature  is  to 
evoke  emotional  tone,  to  appeal  to  our  sense  of  the 
beautiful,  the  grand,  the  tender,  the  pathetic,  the 
humorous.  Its  excellencies  are  melody,  harmony, 
artistic  unity,  beauty  of  thought  and  expression.  It 
is  not  a  concatenation  of  "  therefores,"  but  a  sequence 
insensibly  enchained  by  a  delicate  suggestiveness.  It 
depends  not  so  much  on  logic,  though  logic  may  be 
insensibly  present,  as  on  insight.  The  one  is  pri- 
marily cognitive  and  intellectual ;  the  other  concerns 
the  emotional  aspect  of  states  of  consciousness.  But 
by  this  it  is  not  meant  that  science  is  intellectual  and 
literature  merely  emotional.  The  best  literature  is 
often  splendidly  intellectual  ;  the  loftier  scientific 
truths  stir  some  of  us  with  a  profound  emotion.  The 
point  is,  that  the  primary  aim  of  the  man  of  science 
is  intellectual  and  cognitive  ;  while  the  primary  aim 
of  the  man  of  letters  is  aesthetic  and  emotional  in  the 
pyschological  sense  of  the  term.  The  one  inter- 
prets nature  under  the  forms  of  the  intellect ;  the 
other  interprets  nature  under  the  forms  of  aesthetic 
tone.     The  one  strives  to  make  his  atmosphere  per- 


LITERATURE  205 

fectly  clear  and  transparent ;  the  other  chooses  the 
veiled  tints  of  sunrise  and  sunset,  the  reflected  lights 
of  the  clouds,  or  the  half-revealing,  half-concealing 
radiance  of  night.  Not  that  the  poet's  atmosphere 
is  of  necessity  misty  or  vague,  it  may  be  so  transparent 
that  every  minutest  detail  of  his  landscape  is  clearly 
visible.  What  could  be  more  pellucid  than  the  at- 
mosphere of  this  little  picture  of  Coleridge's  ? — 

"  There  is  not  wind  enough  to  twirl 
The  one  red  leaf,  the  last  of  its  clan, 
That  dances  as  often  dance  it  can, 
Hanging  so  light,  and  hanging  so  high, 
On  the  topmost  twig  that  looks  up  at  the  sky." 

But  whereas  the  man  of  science  has  no  choice  but  to 
work  under  the  conditions  of  the  greatest  possible 
intellectual  lucidity,  the  man  of  letters  is  free  to 
choose  the  conditions  which  conduce  to  the  highest 
artistic  effect. 

It  is  a  mistake,  however,  to  regard  science  and  art 
as  antithetical.  The  man  of  science  is,  or  should  be, 
an  artist.  His  art-work  is  the  interpretation  of 
nature  in  its  widest  sense  under  the  forms  of  the  in- 
tellect ;  just  as  the  art-works  of  the  man  of  letters  is 
the  interpretation  of  nature  under  the  forms  of 
aesthetic  tone.  Man  of  science  and  man  of  letters 
are  both  creative  artists.  It  is  not  science  and  art 
that  are  antithetical ;  but  the  art-work  of  science 
and  the  art-work  of  literature,  appealing  as  they  do 
to  different  aspects  of  our  mental  nature.  But  if 
they  are  antithetical,  they  are  not,  or  they  need 
not  be,  antagonistic.  No  doubt  a  man  may,  by  ex- 
clusive devotion  either  to  literature  or  to  science, 
starve  down  the  other  side  of  his  nature  and  become 


206  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

lopsided.  It  is  our  aim  in  education  to  prevent 
such  lopsidedness.  And  there  is  in  modern  times 
a  danger — a  real  and  very  ominous  danger — that 
the  growth,  not  so  much  of  science  as  of  what 
we  may  term  scientism  (which  may  be  defined  as 
science  minus  the  artistic  ideal),  may  conduce  to  the 
development  of  a  specific  class  of  lopsided  scientists. 
All  who  have  the  interests  of  true  education  at  heart 
should  be  alive  to  this  danger.  Technical  instruction 
is  of  great  value  ;  but  it  cannot  afford  that  all-round 
training  and  discipline  of  the  mental  powers  which 
is  the  aim  of  education. 

Although,  however,  there  is  no  necessary  antago- 
nism between  literature  and  science,  it  is  undoubtedly 
true  that,  either  through  nature  or  nurture,  the 
same  individual  is  seldom  man  of  science  and  man  of 
letters  in  equal  degree.  Nor  is  it  desirable  that  he 
should  be.  But  the  man  of  science  should  at  least 
have  some  sympathy  with  literature,  and  the  man  of 
letters  some  appreciation  of  the  art-work  of  science. 
And  whether  he  is  primarily  scientific  or  primarily 
literary  depends  to  a  large  extent  on  the  nature  of 
the  mental  background.  In  man,  as  a  rational  being, 
this  background  is  in  large  degree  relational  :  in  the 
man  of  science  the  aspect  of  the  relations  therein  is 
primarily  logical ;  while  in  the  man  of  letters  it  is 
primarily  aesthetic.  In  the  one  it  is  illuminated  by 
the  cold,  clear  light  of  reason  ;  in  the  other  it  is 
suffused  with  the  many-hued  tints  of  emotion.  And 
there  is  this  difference  between  the  method  of  presen- 
tation of  his  work  by  the  man  of  science  and  the  man 
of  letters — especially  the  poet.  In  an  adequate 
treatise   on  science  it  is  expected  of  the  author  to 


LITERATURE  207 

supply  to  a  very  large  extent  the  background  in 
which  his  conceptions  are  set.  He  has  not  only  to 
give  us  his  thought,  but  to  exhibit  with  due  diligence 
and  care  its  relations,  and  its  exact  position  in  the 
scheme  of  knowledge.  Not  to  do  so  is  to  fail  in 
the  art  of  scientific  exposition.  With  the  poet  it  is 
different.  It  is  no  part  of  his  function  to  supply  the 
mental  background.  That  you  must  bring  for  your- 
self to  the  study  and  enjoyment  of  his  work.  And 
the  fuller  and  richer  your  background,  the  more 
sympathetically  will  you  respond  to  the  poet's  appeal. 
Hence  the  concentration  and  condensedness  of  poetry  ; 
hence  the  fact  that  it  is  suggestive  rather  than  ex- 
pository ;  and  hence  the  fact  that,  if  we  have  a  poor 
thin  background,  Shakespeare,  and  those  who  sit 
nearest  to  his  throne,  will  appeal  to  us  in  vain. 

To  draw  but  one  more  distinction  between  poetry 
as  the  flower  of  literature,  and  science  as  the  embodi- 
ment of  rational  explanation,  we  may  note  that,  since 
the  artist  must  ever  breathe  the  spirit  of  his  art  into 
the  materials  with  which  he  works,  we  find  that,  for 
the  man  of  science,  all  nature  is  instinct  with  reason  ; 
while  for  the  poet  the  whole  universe  "trembles  with 
song."  As  the  poet  from  whom  I  borrow  this  ex- 
pression— Mr.  William  Watson — sings  it — 

"  Lo,  with  the  ancient 
Roots  of  man's  nature 
Twines  the  eternal 
Passion  of  Song. 

"  Ever  Love  fans  it, 
Ever  Life  feeds  it, 
Time  cannot  age  it, 
Death  cannot  slay. 


208  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

"  Deep  in  the  world-heart 
Stand  its  foundations, 
Tangled  with  all  things, 
Twin-made  with  all. 

"  Nay,  what  is  Nature's 
Self,  but  an  endless 
Strife  toward  music, 
Euphony,  rhyme  ? 

"  Trees  in  their  blooming, 
Tides  in  their  flowing, 
Stars  in  their  circling, 
Tremble  with  song. 

"  God  on  His  throne  is 
Eldest  of  poets  ; 
Unto  His  measures 

Moveth  the  whole." 

In  conclusion,  I  would  remind  the  teacher  that  his 
ministry  in  the  cultivation  of  the  faculty  of  literary 
appreciation  is  far  more  indirect  than  it  is  in  the 
training  of  the  intellect.  His  guidance  here  is  far 
more  insensible.  So  much  depends  upon  what  may 
be  termed  a  literary  atmosphere.  My  own  head- 
master, in  my  schoolboy  years,  never  let  slip  an  op- 
portunity of  introducing  incidental  illustrations,  in 
the  midst  of  our  ordinary  work,  from  the  best  authors 
in  prose  and  verse.  And  out  of  school  hours  noth- 
ing would  delight  him  more  than  for  his  pupils  to 
afford  him  opportunities  of  encouraging  us  and  help- 
ing us  to  a  healthy  appreciation  of  good  literature. 
More  can  be  done  towards  establishing  a  mental  back- 
ground of  appreciation  for  art-work,  whether  literary 
or  scientific,  by  the  stimulating  influence  of  one  who 
has  a  spirit  of  enthusiasm,  than  by  any  amount  of 


LITERATURE  209 

set  and  formal  teaching.  And  the  teacher  must 
never  forget  this  cardinal  fact — that  observation,  ac- 
curate and  sympathetic,  true-eyed  and  true-hearted, 
is  the  mother  alike  of  literature  and  of  science,  and 
that  just  in  so  far  as  we  too  are  observers  shall  we  be 
able  to  appreciate  the  art-work  of  science  and  the  art- 
work of  literature. 
14 


CHAPTER  X 

CHARACTER    AND  CONDUCT 

What  is  the  aim  and  object  of  the  ministry  of  the 
teacher  ?  The  general  answer  to  this  question  has 
already  been  given  :  To  furnish  the  best  possible 
conditions  for  all-round  development.  In  somewhat 
greater  detail  we  may  say  that  the  teacher  has  in  view 
the  following  aims  : — 

1.  To  aid  in,  that  is  to  say,  to  afford  suitable  con- 
ditions for,  the  development  of  sense-experience,  the 
correlation  of  sense-data,  and  the  co-ordination  of 
activities  ;  and  thus  to  fit  the  child  to  deal  practically 
and  efficiently  with  his  natural  environment. 

2.  To  aid  in  the  development  of  the  perceptive  and 
rational  faculties,  and  in  the  correlative  powers  of  ap- 
prehension and  description,  and  of  comprehension 
and  explanation  ;  and  to  foster  the  "how"  attitude 
and  the  "  why"  attitude. 

3.  To  fit  him  to  play  some  special  part  in  the  social 
community,  and  to  perform  wisely  and  well  the  gen- 
eral duties  of  citizenship. 

4.  To  foster  his  faculty  of  appreciation,  and  to  fit 
him  to  get  the  highest  and  best  pleasure  out  of  life, 
and  to  give  such  pleasure  to  others. 

5.  To  aid  him  to  reach  right   conceptions  of  an 

210 


CHARACTER  AND  CONDUCT  21  1 

ideal  self  and  an  ideal  community  ;  and  to  foster  an 
effective  desire  for  their  practical  realization. 

6.  And  in  general  to  aid  him  to  make  the  best  use 
■ — best  for  the  community  and  best  for  himself — of 
all  his  powers. 

The  foregoing  list  makes  no  pretence  to  be  com- 
plete or  exhaustive.  It  may,  however,  be  objected 
that,  not  only  is  it  incomplete,  but  it  leaves  out  what 
many  people  regard  as  the  central  and  most  impor- 
tant of  all  the  objects  of  education,  since  no  mention  is 
made  of  earning  a  livelihood,  or  of  making  money  and 
a  position  in  the  world.  Although  I  am  fully  aware 
of  the  importance  of  this  object — although  in  any 
enumeration  of  the  motives  of  human  conduct  and 
human  endeavor  its  omission  would  imply  blindness 
to  the  facts  of  our  existence — still  it  does  not  appear 
to  me  necessary  to  introduce  it  into  a  statement  of 
the  aims  of  the  teacher.  It  is  sufficient  for  us  "  to 
fit  the  individual  to  play  some  special  part  in  the 
social  community."  If  the  individual  so  fitted  plays 
that  part  to  the  best  of  his  ability,  the  perform- 
ance of  the  work  and  duty  thereby  entailed  will  meet 
its  due  reward.  Suppose  that  we  are  training  a  man 
to  be  a  lawyer  or  an  engineer  ;  our  part  is  to  fit  him 
to  do  his  work  honestly  and  well,  conscientiously  and 
without  scamping.  We  fit  him  to  play  efficiently  his 
special  part  in  the  social  community.  The  money  he 
earns  and  the  position  he  wins  are  the  social  recogni- 
tion of  work  done  and  duty  fulfilled.  Of  this  aspect 
of  the  matter  we  are  neither  ignorant  nor  forgetful  ; 
but  it  does  not  primarily  concern  us. 

The  word  social  strikes  the  keynote  of  this  chapter. 
Much  that  has  been  said  in  previous  chapters  has 


212  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

tacit  and  implied  reference  to  our  social  state.  Now 
we  have  to  give  to  this  social  condition  its  due  prom- 
inence. If  our  whole  system  of  education  do  not 
bear  fruit  in  character  and  conduct,  of  what  avail 
is  it  ? 

Even  in  the  correlation  of  sense-data  and  the  co- 
ordination of  activities  under  the  relatively  simple 
conditions  of  sense-experience  the  social  factor  is 
by  no  means  absent ;  for  the  environment  in  which 
this  experience  develops  is  from  the  first  social  in  its 
nature.  The  activities  must  be  performed  in  just 
relation  to  the  like  activities  of  others.  Description 
and  explanation  have  no  meaning  apart  from  our 
social  state.  The  intimate  relation  of  language  and 
thought,  to  which  we  devoted  the  eighth  chapter, 
carries  with  it  a  similar  implication  ;  while  literature, 
music,  painting,  sculpture,  and  the  whole  field  of  art 
are  a  subtle  means  of  social  communication.  In  our 
appreciation  of  the  best  art  we  feel  that  we  are  rising 
above  our  lower  and  merely  individual  interests, 
above  those  pleasures  which  are  mean  and  trivial, 
low  and  sordid,  to  those  which  are  pure  and  enno- 
bling, and  which  appeal  to  the  higher  and  more  dis- 
tinctively social  side  of  our  nature.  It  is  the  func- 
tion of  art  to  raise  us  into  the  region  of  lasting  and 
enduring  interests,  and  to  minister  to  that  apprecia- 
tion which  is  ours  in  virtue  of  our  distinctively  human 
and  social  state.     It  deals  with 

"Great  thoughts,  grave  thoughts,  thoughts  lasting  to  the 
end." 

But  when  we  come  to  conduct  we  have  something 
more  than  appreciation.     It  does  not  suffice  to  ad- 


CHARACTER  AND  CONDUCT       213 

mire,  no  matter  how  truly,  the  beauty  of  nature  or 
of  human  life  as  interpreted  by  art ;  it  does  not  suf- 
fice to  be  touched,  no  matter  how  deeply,  by  the  pity 
and  the  pathos  of  existence;  it  does  not  suffice  to 
appreciate,  no  matter  how  delicately,  the  highest 
achievements  of  human  genius.  We  must  ourselves 
be  up  and  doing.  We  must  play  our  part  in  the  busy 
social  world.  We  have  work  to  do  and  duties  to  per- 
form, and  into  this  work  and  these  duties  we  must 
throw  our  heart  and  soul.  And  part  of  our  duty  as 
teachers  is  to  foster  this  spirit  of  active  endeavor  and 
to  guide  it  to  right  ends. 

Before  considering  in  what  manner  the  teacher 
may  most  profitably  exert  his  influence  in  this  re- 
spect, it  will  be  well  to  devote  our  attention  to  the 
motives  in  and  through  which  control  is  exercised 
over  conduct.  The  relative  strength  of  these  mo- 
tives is  one  of  the  determining  factors  of  character. 

It  must  be  remembered  that  there  is  a  natural  and 
inherent  tendency  to  action  in  virtue  of  innate  and 
inherited  capacities  or  proclivities.  From  our  pres- 
ent point  of  view  we  may  term  such  action  impulsive. 
It  is  the  characteristic  of  impulsive  action  that  it  is 
not  under  due  control.  The  impulse  may  be  either 
good  or  bad.  However  we  may  explain,  or  attempt 
to  explain,  the  mode  of  origin  of  the  innate  and 
hereditary  tendency — and  this  is  a  difficult  problem 
which  we  cannot  here  discuss — the  fact  remains  that 
some  of  us  come  into  the  world  with  a  larger  percent- 
age of  good  impulses  or  bad  impulses,  as  the  case 
may  be,  than  others.  Bat  the  characteristic  of  such 
impulses,  whether  good  or  bad,  is  this  :  that  they  are, 
as  such,  uncontrolled.     A  man  walking  by  the  water- 


214  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

side  sees  a  child  in  peril  of  drowning,  and  instantly 
springs  to  the  rescue  ;  a  high-spirited  youth  sees  a 
girl  insulted  by  a  blackguard,  and  promptly  knocks 
him  down  ;  a  poor  starving  wretch  sees  a  child  carry- 
ing her  father's  dinner,  and  hungrily  grabs  it.  These 
actions  call  forth  in  different  degree  our  praise  or 
blame  ;  but  they  are  alike  in  being  impulsive.  They 
are  not  the  outcome  of  determinate  control.  We 
speak,  indeed,  of  motives  for  such  actions,  saying  that 
the  poor  wretch  is  impelled  to  his  deed  by  motives  of 
hunger.  But  it  is  well  to  reserve  the  term  motives 
for  the  determinants  of  deliberate  action ;  and  to 
speak  not  of  the  motives,  but  of  the  promptings  of 
impulse.  Happy  is  he  who  inherits  the  promptings 
of  social,  and  not  of  anti-social,  impulse. 

The  motives  under  the  influence  of  which  we  ex- 
ercise control  over  our  actions  are  so  various,  that 
their  adequate  analysis  presents  one  of  the  most 
difficult  problems  of  psychological  inquiry.  Fortu- 
nately, it  is  not  necessary  for  us  to  discuss  the  matter 
with  any  minuteness  of  detail.  Let  us  therefore 
consider  the  question  from  a  very  broad  and  general 
point  of  view.  It  stands  thus  :  Each  individual  is 
prompted  to  action  by  certain  innate  and  inherent 
impulses,  good,  bad,  or  indifferent  ;  he  is  more  or 
less  dissatisfied  with  the  actions  to  which  he  is  thus 
prompted,  and  he  therefore  exercises  control  over  his 
conduct  so  as  to  guide  it  to  ends  other  than  those  to 
which  impulse  prompts.  That  which  we  wish  to 
know  is — (1)  what  are  these  other  ends,  and  (2)  what 
are  the  motives  for  the  guidance  of  conduct  to  these 
ends  ? 

To  answer  these  questions  in  detail  is,  I  repeat,  a 


CHARACTER  AND  CONDUCT  215 

matter  of  exceeding  difficulty,  involving  much  subtle 
analysis  ;  but  to  answer  them  in  the  broad  and  gen- 
eral way  which  suffices  for  our  present  purpose  is  not 
so  difficult.  The  "  other  ends,"  in  all  their  varying 
complexity  under  changing  and  differing  circum- 
stances, may  be  summed  up  in  a  few  words,  which 
cover  all  the  multiplicity  of  their  details.  The  self 
of  impulse  does  not  satisfy  us  ;  our  end  in  view  is  to 
realize,  through  guidance  and  control,  our  ideal  self, 
to  attain  unto  that  better,  fuller,  richer,  truer  self 
that  we  would  be,  in  place  of  the  meagre  and  unsatis- 
factory self  that  we  are.  This,  it  appears  to  me,  is 
the  essential  aim  in  the  guidance  of  conduct.  And 
what  are  the  motives  for  the  guidance  of  conduct  to- 
wards the  always  incomplete,  but,  as  we  hope,  the 
constantly  less  incomplete,  realization  of  our  ideal 
self  ?  This  question,  too,  difficult  as  it  is  to  answer 
in  detail,  can  be  answered  in  a  general  way  almost  in 
a  word.  The  ideal  self  must  be  an  object  of  desire. 
Any  approach  thereto  must  be  accompanied  by  the 
emotional  tone  of  satisfaction  and  content  ;  any  fall- 
ing away  therefrom,  by  the  emotional  tone  of  dis- 
satisfaction and  discontent. 

In  every  individual  character  there  is  on  the  one 
hand  the  self  of  natural  impulse,  and  on  the  other 
hand  the  ideal  self,  not  indeed  clearly  defined  and  for- 
mulated, but  seen,  sometimes  dimly,  sometimes  with 
greater  distinctness,  in  its  different  aspects  under 
the  varying  circumstances  of  life.  And  between 
these  two  stands  the  product  of  their  interaction,  the 
self  as  actually  realized  in  practical  conduct.  This 
self  it  is,  on  the  actions  of  which  the  bystanders 
pronounce  judgment — a  judgment  which  should  be 


216  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

softened  by  the  fact  that  no  one  can  say  what  is  the 
strength  for  good  or  ill  of  the  impulsive  prompting  ; 
while  the  nature  of  the  ideal  self,  and  the  power  of 
control  effectual  to  its  realization,  are  alike  difficult 
of  estimation. 

We  seem,  however,  so  far,  to  have  left  on  one  side 
that  which  was  said  to  be  the  keynote  of  this  chapter. 
The  ideal  self,  it  may  be  urged,  is  a  purely  individual 
matter  ;  while  the  word  "  social "  was  said  to  strike 
our  keynote.  But  the  ideal  self  is  by  no  means  a 
purely  individual  matter.  It  is,  indeed,  individual 
to  me  in  so  far  as  it  is  my  ideal  self  which  I  desire  to 
realize  in  conduct ;  but  it  is  a  social  self,  a  self  set  in 
a  complex  social  environment,  that  I  must  set  before 
myself  as  the  goal  of  my  endeavors.  It  is  absolutely 
impossible  for  us,  even  if  we  would,  to  shake  our- 
selves free  of  our  social  surroundings.  We  live  in  a 
community  larger  or  smaller,  and  in  reference  to  that 
community  our  conduct  is  largely  moulded. 

But  though,  since  we  are  social  beings,  there  is,  in 
the  conception  of  an  ideal  self,  tacit  reference  to  the 
community  in  the  midst  of  which  we  carry  on  our 
life  and  work,  yet  it  will  be  well  to  bring  this  impor- 
tant factor  into  due  prominence.  For  not  only  do 
we  strive  to  realize  an  ideal  self,  but  we  endeavor 
to  modify  and  influence  our  neighbors ;  and  this 
both  in  reference  to  their  relations  to  ourselves,  and 
in  respect  of  their  relations  to  the  community  as  a 
whole.  Hence  we  formulate  with  more  or  less  dis- 
tinctness an  ideal  community,  to  the  realization  of 
which  we  must  contribute  in  every  way  in  our  power. 
Herein,  then,  we  appear  to  have  in  broad  and  gen- 
eral outline  the  ends  and  aims  of  conduct ;  and  the 


CHARACTER  AND  CONDUCT  217 

task  of  the  teacher  in  this  respect  would  seem  to  be, 
in  the  words  of  our  fifth  head,  as  stated  at  the  begin- 
ning of  this  chapter  :  To  aid  him  whom  ive  would 
educate  to  reach  right  conceptions  of  an  ideal  self  and 
an  ideal  community  ;  and  to  foster  an  effective  desire 
for  their  practical  realization. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  by  the  ideal  self  and 
the  ideal  community  I  mean  something  dim,  distant, 
and  Utopian  ;  something  very  pleasant  and  beautiful 
to  dream  about,  but  having  its  place  in  the  shadowy 
cloudland  of  the  unattainable.  That  is  not  at  all  my 
meaning.  If  our  ideals  are  incapable  of  at  least 
partial  realization,  they  will  not  be  operative  on  con- 
duct. We  may  dream  away  our  lives  in  admiring 
them,  and  sighing  at  our  impotency  to  attain  unto 
them,  but  we  shall  not  be  stimulated  by  them  to 
honest  active  endeavor.  No.  Our  ideals  must  be 
practical ;  betterment  rather  than  absolute  perfection 
must  be  our  device.  They  must  grow  with  our  life, 
and  develop  with  our  widening  experience.  Always 
beyond  and  above  us,  leading  us  onward  and  upward, 
our  ideal  must  be  distinctly,  and  yet  not  too  far,  in 
advance  of  what  has  already  been  realized.  For  if  at 
any  time  our  conduct  should  realize  our  ideal,  a 
higher  ideal  is  forthwith  conceived,  and  the  interval 
is  again  reconstituted.  "We  are  like  climbers  ascend- 
ing a  mountain  peak  ;  we  see  before  us  the  summit  in 
its  glittering  beauty  as  the  ultimate  goal  of  our  en- 
deavors, but  to  reach  it  we  must  ascend  slowly  and 
carefully,  fixing  our  attention  on  some  vantage  point 
just  above  us,  and  when  that  is  reached  looking  a 
little  higher.  If  we  make  straight  for  the  ideal  sum- 
mit, we  shall  probably  fall  into  the  first  crevasse. 


218  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

But  if  we  proceed  upwards  slowly  and  surely,  we 
may — but  here  the  analogy  fails.  The  summit  of 
perfection  in  conduct  we  may  not  hope  to  reach. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  draw  attention  to  the  fact 
that  there  is  no  uniformity,  nay,  let  us  rather  say 
that  there  is  indefinite  diversity,  in  the  ideals  both 
of  self  and  community  which  different  men  and 
women  conceive  and  endeavor  to  realize.  This 
diversity  is  indeed  as  wide  as  the  diversity  of  human 
character.  And  not  only  is  it  difficult  or  impossible 
to  define  the  social  ideal  (p.  203)  in  these  matters  ; 
it  is  exceedingly  difficult  to  define  the  individual 
ideal  in  any  particular  case.  For  the  ideal,  though 
it  involves  cognitive  elements,  is  not  primarily  a 
matter  of  cognition ;  nor  does  an  ideal  of  conduct, 
any  more  than  an  ideal  of  beauty,  admit  of  that  sum- 
mary preciseness  of  definition  which  is  so  eminently 
characteristic  of  a  purely  intellectual  generalization. 
This  man  will  place  self  before  the  State  or  com- 
munity at  large,  and  regard  the  realization  of  indi-. 
vidual  character  as  the  highest  object  of  endeavor. 
That  man  with  broader  social  sympathies  will  place 
first  the  realization  of  an  ideal  community,  and  will 
regard  as  essential  to  the  ideal  self  the  due  subor- 
dination of  individual  desires  to  a  desire  for  social 
well-being.  For  some  the  relations  of  self  to  the 
State  will  constantly  be  viewed  in  the  light  of  expe- 
diency, and  the  means  of  attaining  the  realization  of 
the  ideal  will  be  predominantly  dictated  by  prudence. 
For  others  the  light  in  which  these  relations  are 
viewed  is  not  that  of  the  expedient  but  that  of  the 
right,  and  the  means  of  attaining  the  realization  of 
the  ideal  will  be  predominantly  dictated  by  the  sense 


CHARACTER  AND  CONDUCT       219 

of  duty.  For  the  one,  any  failure  to  reach  the  ideal 
standard  of  conduct  will  be  accompanied  by  regret 
for  error  ;  for  the  other,  such  failure  will  give  rise  to 
regret,  rising  perhaps  to  remorse,  for  wrong.  Moral- 
ists draw  a  very  sharp  line  of  demarcation  between 
prudential  motives  and  moral  motives  ;  and  no  doubt, 
as  a  matter  of  ethics,  they  are  both  wise  and  right  in 
doing  so.  But  the  difference  is  very  largely  one  of 
aspect.  The  same  motive  may  be  prudential  from 
one  point  of  view,  and  right  from  another  point  of 
view ;  and  the  action  to  which  it  leads  may  satisfy  at 
once  the  requirements  both  of  expediency  and  of 
duty. 

But  what  is  right?  What  is  duty?  It  is  ob- 
viously quite  impossible  adequately  to  discuss  these 
questions.  It  must  suffice  to  answer  them  from  that 
broad  and  general  point  of  view  from  which  we  are 
considering  the  whole  subject.  In  the  light  of  what 
has  already  been  said,  the  answer  is  not  far  to  seek. 
If  there  has  taken  form  in  the  mind  of  any  man  or 
woman  an  ideal  self  and  an  ideal  community,  then 
any  action  which  conduces  to  the  realization  of  that 
ideal  is  right ;  any  action  which  leads  away  from  the 
ideal  is  wrong.  The  constant  endeavor  to  realize  the 
ideal  is  one's  duty.  These  answers  may  be,  and  no 
doubt  are,  imperfect  and  inadequate  ;  but  they  will 
be  perhaps  more  serviceable  to  us  in  our  practical 
consideration  of  the  subject  than  definitions  involv- 
ing more  subtle  analysis. 

And  where,  in  these  answers,  is  there  place  for 
that  cardinal  principle  of  all  vital  ethics,  a  man's 
duty  to  his  neighbor  ?  In  the  first  place,  it  may  be 
replied,  that,  as  already  indicated,  my  relations  to  my 


220      PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

neighbor  form  part  of  my  ideal  self,  which  is  a  self  set 
in  a  social  environment.  In  the  second  place,  it  may 
be  replied,  that  my  neighbor  is  one  of  the  constituents 
of  that  practically  existent  State  whose  betterment 
is  an  object  implied  in  the  ideal  community  which  it 
is  my  desire  to  realize.  Thus,  my  duty  to  my  neigh- 
bor, both  as  an  individual  in  particular  relations  with 
myself,  and  as  a  member  of  the  social  community,  are 
by  no  means  lost  sight  of.  So  important,  however, 
is  this  neighborly  relationship,  that  it  is  scarcely  pos- 
sible to  lay  too  much  stress  on  it.  The  ideal  com- 
munity is  generalized  and  conceptual;  my  neighbor  is 
its  practical  embodiment  in  flesh  and  blood. 

It  is  to  my  neighbor,  also,  thus  before  me  in  the 
living  flesh,  that  my  sympathies  go  forth.  Sympathy 
is  a  matter  of  that  emotional  tone  to  which  atten- 
tion has  already  been  directed.  The  performance  of 
certain  actions  carries  with  it  a  pleasurable,  presen- 
tative,  emotional  tone.  When  we  see  similar  actions 
performed  by  others,  a  corresponding  re-presentative, 
emotional  tone  is  called  up.  For  example,  one  who 
is  fond  of  riding  or  swimming,  and  derives  keen 
pleasure  from  the  exercise,  experiences  sympathetic 
pleasure  when  he  sees  others  in  full  enjoyment  of  a 
canter  or  a  bathe.  So,  too,  the  sight  of  sorrow  or 
suffering  calls  forth  in  us  a  sympathetic  emotion  as 
we  put  ourselves  in  the  place  of  the  mourner  or  the 
patient.  And  we  are  wont  to  give  expression  to  our 
sympathy  :  we  congratulate  the  rider  or  the  swimmer, 
if  opportunity  serves,  on  his  success  ;  we  commiser- 
ate with  the  mourner  or  patient.  Nay,  we  go  further 
than  this  in  our  sympathy.  We  take  an  active  part 
in  the  promotion  of  the  happiness  and  well-being  of 


CHARACTER  AND  CONDUCT       221 

our  neighbors,  and  in  the  alleviation  of  their  suffer- 
ing and  distress.  To  this,  be  it  noted,  we  are 
prompted  by  our  sympathetic  impulses.  But  these 
impulses,  no  less  than  those  which  are  wholly  self- 
regarding,  need  guidance  and  restraint  under  the 
control  of  the  will.  For  our  sympathy  may  prompt 
us  to  actions  which  on  reflection  will  be  seen  to  be 
neither  prudent  nor  right.  Hence,  even  in  this  mat- 
ter, so  far  as  guidance  and  control  are  concerned,  we 
come  back  to  our  old  position  :  we  endeavor  to 
realize  an  ideal  self  whose  sympathy  is  under  wise 
and  moral  restraint. 

One  way  in  which  we  express  our  sympathy  is 
through  approbation  and  disapprobation.  We  should 
perhaps  distinguish  between  (1)  a  mere  sense  of 
approbation,  which  is  no  more  than  a  feeling  of 
sympathetic  satisfaction,  expressed  or  unexpressed ; 
and  (2)  that  more  intellectual  form  of  approbation 
which  implies  the  perception  of  the  relation  of  that 
which  is  approved  to  a  standard  or  ideal  of  conduct. 
Ap]3robation  thus  stands  in  the  same  relation  to 
conduct  that  appreciation  does  to  literary  or  other 
art-products.  Both  imply  a  standard  or  ideal ;  both 
express  a  judgment  that  the  standard  or  ideal  has  or 
has  not  been  reached.  In  neither  case  need  there  be 
any  reference  to  the  grounds  of  judgment.  The 
judgment  expressed  in  approbation  is  no  more  sus- 
ceptible of  being  stated  in  set  syllogistic  form  than 
is  the  judgment  expressed  in  appreciation.  Although 
there  is  here  a  social  ideal  analogous  to  that  which  we 
briefly  considered  (p.  203)  in  connection  with  appreci- 
ation, yet  this  is  so  deeply  tinged  with  emotional  tone, 
and  is  so  largely  subjective  in  origin,  that  it  does  not 


222  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHEES 

admit  of  that  universal   acceptance  which  is  char- 
acteristic of  the  premises  of  the  syllogism. 

There  can  be  no  question  as  to  the  exceeding  im- 
portance of  approbation  and  disapprobation  as  de- 
terminants of  conduct.  Much  depends  here,  however, 
upon  the  amount  of  sympathy.  The  unsympathetic 
person  is  very  little  influenced  by  praise  or  blame ; 
approbation  and  disapprobation  do  not  to  any  marked 
extent  cause  any  alteration  in  his  course  through  life. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  man  of  artistic  temperament 
is  one  who  is  generally  keenly  sensitive  to  approbation, 
and  one  whose  naturally  strong  impulses,  self -regard- 
ing and  sympathetic,  are  perhaps  more  readily  guided 
under  the  influence  of  the  praise  and  blame  of  those 
who  move  within  his  special  artistic  circle — of  those, 
that  is  to  say,  with  whom  he  is  in  sympathy — than 
under  the  influence  of  any  other  motives.  His  ideal 
self  is  essentially  one  with  which  others  must  keenly 
and  enthusiastically  sympathize. 

One  question  may  here  be  suggested  before  we  pass 
on.  If  a  man  have  framed  low  and  sordid  ideals — 
and  we  cannot  blind  ourselves  to  the  fact  that  this 
may  only  too  often  be  the  case — is  it  his  duty  to 
endeavor  to  realize  them  ?  Is  it  not  rather  his  deity 
to  frame  and  endeavor  to  realize  better  and  nobler 
ideals  ?  To  this  question  we  must  reply  that  it  is  a 
man's  duty  to  act,  so  far  as  he  can,  in  accordance  with 
his  own  standard  of  conduct,  whatever  that  standard 
may  be.  It  is  unfortunately  the  only  real  standard 
he  has.  When  we  speak  of  better  and  nobler  ideals, 
they  are  our  ideals,  not  his.  And  no  doubt  it  is  a 
duty  for  us  who  pass  this  judgment  to  do  what  we 
can  to  raise  his  ideals.     The  question,  however,  once 


CHARACTER  AND  CONDUCT       223 

more  brings  into  prominence  the  social  ideal,  by  which 
is  meant,  not  the  average  ideal  of  all  the  members  of 
the  community,  but  the  ideal  of  those  who,  by  general 
consent  of  those  who  are  specially  fitted  to  express  an 
opinion  in  the  matter,  represent  the  community  at  its 
best.  Although  we  cannot  say,  in  the  light  of  our 
guiding  principle,  that  it  is  a  man's  duty  to  endeavor 
to  act  up  to  this  social  ideal  if  it  be  not  also  his  own 
ideal,  yet  we  may  say  that  it  is  the  duty  of  the  com- 
munity in  which  such  social  ideal  has  taken  form,  to 
take  all  reasonable  and  legitimate  steps  to  bring 
about  the  realization  of  that  ideal  by  all  its  members. 
And  it  is  at  once  the  duty  and  the  privilege  of  the 
teacher,  who  is  in  this  respect  the  more  or  less 
accredited  agent  of  the  community,  to  do  all  in  his 
power  to  set  before  his  pupils  the  social  ideal  of 
character  and  conduct. 

We  have  now  to  consider  how  the  influence  of  the 
teacher  may  most  effectively  be  brought  to  bear  on 
those  with  whom  he  has  to  deal.  The  first  point  to 
notice  is  that  the  teaching  should  be  mainly  indirect. 
That  is  to  say,  the  most  effectual  method  is  not  the 
inculcation  of  moral  maxims,  not  the  supply  of  a 
certain  amount  of  ethical  material  to  cognition  for 
intellectual  assimilation,  but  an  insensible  moral  and 
prudential  influence  ever  present  as  a  wholesome  and 
stimulating  atmosphere.  Ideals  of  conduct,  like 
ideals  of  literary  beauty,  cannot  be  directly  imparted  ; 
all  that  we  can  do  is  to  foster  their  growth  and  in- 
sensibly to  influence  the  direction  of  that  growth. 

We  may  take  it  that  the  actions  of  the  little  child 
are  at  first  wholly  impulsive,  and  that  the  impulses 
are  in  the  early  days  of  life  altogether  self-regarding. 


224  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

The  sympathetic  impulses  come  later  ;  and  these,  so 
soon  as  they  appear,  must  be  fostered  and  guided.  It 
is  presumably  to  the  mother  that  interest  and  sym- 
pathy are  first  extended.  But  gradually  this  sym- 
pathy widens,  embracing  the  nurse,  father,  sisters, 
brothers,  and,  perhaps,  the  four-footed  playmates. 
For  some  time,  however,  the  home,  with  its  immedi- 
ate surroundings  and  branches,  forms  the  utmost 
extent  of  the  emotional  impulses.  There  is  as  yet  no 
room  in  the  heart  for  more  extended  interests  and 
sympathies.  But  ere  long  the  time  comes  when  the 
school,  the  parish  or  town,  the  native  land,  and  per- 
haps eventually  the  whole  brotherhood  of  man,  come 
in  for  their  share  of  the  awakening  emotional  im- 
pulses ;  esprit  de  corps,  patriotism,  and  perhaps 
universalism,  have  their  birth. 

And  as  the  sympathies  widen  and  the  sympathetic 
impulses  become  more  extended  in  their  range,  more 
or  less  definite  ideals  of  conduct  take  form  in  the 
mind,  self-control  is  established,  and  reason  guides 
the  impulses  to  ends  which  gain  the  approval  of 
conscience  and  of  common  sense.  It  is  part  of  the 
aim  of  education  to  afford  the  most  satisfactory  con- 
ditions for  the  formation  of  right  and  wise  ideals  ;  of 
a  frank,  courageous,  true,  and  pure  ideal  self,  and  of 
an  ideal  community  in  which  co-operation  to  the  best 
and  highest  ends  is  an  object  of  endeavor  among  all 
the  members. 

The  personal  and  magnetic  influence  of  the  teacher, 
whether  the  teacher  be  the  parent  or  another,  is  here 
of  great  importance.  The  influence  is  more  by  example 
than  by  precept.  At  all  events,  when  example  in  any 
way  contradicts  precept,  it  is  the  former  rather  than 


CHARACTER  AND  CONDUCT  225 

the  latter  that  will  be  influential,  precepts  not  acted 
upon  being  regarded  as  shams,  and  tending  to  weaken 
the  influence  not  only  of  precept  but  also  of  example. 

In  school-life,  the  general  tone  of  the  community, 
which  at  this  stage  of  life  represents  the  State,  is  of 
enormous  importance.  Nothing  is  of  more  vital 
moment  in  a  great  school  than  the  social  standard 
of  "good  form"  that  is  developed  therein.  It  is 
scarcely  too  much  to  say  that  the  schoolboy's  conduct 
is  more  strongly  influenced  by  a  desire  to  conform 
to  the  school  standard  of  usage  and  current  opinion 
than  by  any  other  motive.  For  one  who  throws  him- 
self heartily  into  the  school-life,  the  stigma  of  "  bad 
form"  is  something  to  be  avoided  at  all  hazards. 
And  though  the  standard  of  "  form  "  may  alter  as  we 
go  through  life,  yet  the  desire  to  conform  to  social 
usage,  and  so  to  act  as  to  win  social  approbation  and 
to  escape  social  disapprobation,  is,  it  would  seem,  the 
predominant  motive  with  the  majority  of  us,  so  long 
as  it  does  not  directly  conflict  with  prudential  self- 
interest.  Happy  the  school,  therefore,  and  happy 
the  community,  which  possesses  a  high  standard  of 
social  usage  and  custom  ;  which  possesses,  in  a  word, 
a  high  social  ideal  of  what  the  community  should  be 
and  should  do. 

In  the  study  of  history  splendid  opportunities  are 
afforded  to  the  teacher  of  giving  an  indirect  impetus 
to  the  development  in  the  pupil's  mind  both  of  the 
ideal  self  and  of  the  ideal  community.  For  history 
presents  us  with  concrete  examples  of  strenuous 
endeavor  towards  the  realization  both  of  individual 
character  and  of  a  better  social  condition  of  the  com- 
munity at  large.  However  open  it  may  be  to  criticism 
*5 


226  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

from  the  point  of  view  of  the  scientific  historian,  there 
can  be  no  question  that  hero-worship  is  of  great  im- 
portance in  the  development  of  the  character  of  the 
worshipper.  Hence  it  has  been  said  :  Tell  me  a  man's 
heroes,  and  I  will  read  yon  his  character.  I  have 
before  said  that  one  of  the  main  points  of  value  of 
history  as  a  school  subject,  and  even  as  a  subject  for 
our  bigger  schoolboys  at  the  university,  is  that  it 
widens  the  sympathies.  I  would  now  add  that,  while 
it  widens  the  sympathies,  it  also  affords  concrete 
examples  of  conduct  and  picturesque  material  for  an 
insensible  and  unobtrusive  training  in  approbation 
and  disapprobation.  It  also  affords  us  the  material 
for  drawing  the  distinction,  with  reference  to  concrete 
examples,  between  merit  and  virtue.  There  are  some 
types  of  character  so  happily  constituted  that  we  may 
say  of  them  that  there  is  no  merit  in  their  virtue. 
For  merit  is  proportional  to  the  struggle.  And 
there's  many  a  schoolboy,  in  whom  self-mastery  is  not 
yet  established,  whose  half-won  goodness,  under  dif- 
ficult circumstances,  is  more  meritorious  than  the 
easy  self-denial  of  one  of  maturer  years. 

Literature,  too,  as  well  as  history,  affords  concrete 
examples  of  conduct  which  should  be  utilized  by  the 
teacher  in  the  same  unobtrusive  and  insensible  fash- 
ion, not  moralizing  and  preaching  from  the  literary 
text,  but  stimulating,  by  his  own  enthusiasm  for  cer- 
tain excellencies  of  character,  a  like  enthusiasm  in  the 
minds  of  his  pupils.  In  many  cases  the  literary 
artist  has  had  in  view  this  wholesome  influence  on 
his  readers  in  the  creation  of  his  characters.  It  is 
part  of  his  aim  to  subtly  indicate  through  the  por- 
trayal of  character  what  is  his  own  ideal  self  and  what 


CHARACTER  AND  CONDUCT  227 

his  ideal  community.  And  it  is  one  of  the  functions 
of  the  artist  to  lead  us  to  see,  through  the  delicate 
emphasis  which  characterizes  his  synthesis,  features 
which  would  otherwise  have  escaped  our  duller 
vision.     As  Browning  says  in  his  Fra  Lij>/><>  Lippi — 

"  For,  don't  you  mark  ?  we're  made  so  that  we  love 
First  when  we  see  them  painted,  things  we  have  passed 
Perhaps  a  hundred  times  nor  cared  to  see  ; 
And  so  they  are  better,  painted — better  to  us, 
Which  is  the  same  thing.     Art  was  given  for  that 
God  uses  us  to  help  each  other  so, 
Lending  our  minds  out." 

What  we  have  to  do  as  teachers  is  to  "lend  our 
minds  out "  to  the  best  possible  purpose.  For  we  too 
are  artists  ;  and  the  materials  with  which  we  have  to 
deal  are  human  minds  and  their  environment.  AVe 
have  so  to  organize  the  conditions  of  growth  that 
there  shall  result  the  development  of  fine  character 
and  right  conduct.  As  already  pointed  out,  we  are 
mainly  at  work  upon  the  mental  background.  It  is 
our  object  to  make  this  background  as  rich  and  full 
and  orderly  as  possible,  so  that  whatever  is  brought 
to  the  focus  of  consciousness  shall  be  set  in  a  rela- 
tional background  which  shall  give  it  meaning  ;  and 
so  that  our  pupils  may  be  able  to  feel  the  truth  of 
the  words  which  Browning  puts  into  the  mouth  of  Fra 
Lippo  Lippi  in  a  passage  which  follows  closely  upon 
that  which  I  have  just  quoted — 

"  This  world's  no  blot  for  us 
Nor  blank;  it  means  intensely,  and  means  good: 
To  find  its  meaning  is  my  meat  and  drink.'* 

And,  once  more,  so  that  not  only  the  intellect  may 

be   stirred,  but   the  whole   background    thrill   with 


228      PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

emotional  tone,  and  our  pupil   may  again   exclaim 
with  Browning — 

"  O  world,  as  God  has  made  it !  all  is  beauty  ; 
And  knowing  this  is  love,  and  love  is  duty." 

There  can  be  no  question  that  this  adequate  pre- 
paredness of  the  background  of  which  I  am  speaking 
adds  enormously  to  our  enjoyment  as  well  as  to  our 
power.  I  stood  a  few  days  ago  on  the  battlements 
of  Stirling  Castle,  and,  having  at  length  dispensed 
with  the  kindly  importunities  of  the  guide,  looked 
round  on  a  scene  which,  even  to  my  imperfect  knowl- 
edge of  Scottish  history,  was  set  in  a  background 
splendidly  rich  in  noble,  unselfish,  and  patriotic  en- 
deavor. As  I  stood  and  felt  that  the  heroes  who 
had  breathed  their  undying  spirit  on  the  place  were 
actuated  by  noble  ideals  both  of  self  and  State,  a 
guide  came  round  discoursing  in  set  phrase  of  places 
and  dates.  A  worthy  Cockney  turned  to  me,  whom 
apparently  he  recognized  as  a  brother  Cockney — for 
I  too  was  born  within  the  sound  of  Bow  Bells — and 
said,  "  I  don't  think  much  of  this  place.  It  ain't  a 
patch  on  the  Tower  of  London.  But  a  lot  of  John- 
nies seem  to  have  worried  around  here."  I  fear  his 
background  was  terribly  meagre.  He  told  me  that 
it  was  the  block  and  headsman's  axe  that  interested 
him  most  in  the  Tower  of  London ;  and  he  seemed 
to  have  some  slight  glow  of  enthusiasm  when  the 
guide  indicated  the  position  of  the  Heading  Hill 
and  Stone,  and  spoke  of  the  execution  of  the  Duke 
of  Albany  and  his  two  sons,  with  his  father-in-law 
the  Earl  of  Lennox.  Then  he  began  to  feel  that  he 
had  not  come  to  Stirling  quite  in  vain. 


CHARACTER  AND  CONDUCT       229 

Think  what  a  man  misses  from  the  point  of  view 
of  pure  enjoyment  if  the  background  of  conscious- 
ness be  nowise  prepared  by  a  knowledge  of  the  great 
deeds  which  are  recorded  in  the  pages  of  history, 
and  by  a  knowledge  of  what  men  of  action  and  men 
of  thought  have  done,  not  only  for  their  own  time  but 
also  for  us.  They  enter,  if  indeed  it  be  worth  their 
while,  Wordsworth's  cottage  at  Grasmere,  and  leave 
it  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  saying  that  they 
suppose  it  was  good  enough  for  a  poet.  They  pass 
through  the  village  of  Chalfont  St.  Giles,  and  do  not 
think  it  worth  while  to  look  into  the  little  room  in 
which  Paradise  Lost  received  its  finishing  touches. 
They  go  to  Stratford-on-Avon,  and  wonder  what 
makes  Americans  flock  thither.  But  it  is  with  the 
effect  on  character  and  conduct  that  I  am  now  chiefly 
concerned.  The  man  who,  from  poverty  of  mental 
background,  is  stirred  by  none  of  these  things,  misses 
an  influence  on  character  and  a  stimulus  to  conduct 
which  are  of  incalculable  value.  A  soldier  whom  I 
met  some  time  ago  told  me  that,  when  he  was  a  young 
subaltern,  and  was  getting  slack,  as  he  expressed  it, 
he  was  pulled  together  by  a  pithy  but  effective  re- 
mark of  his  superior  officer.  "Take  care,"  he  said  : 
"you're  forgetting  Wellington,  and  the  history  and 
traditions  of  the  army."  There's  many  a  lad  who  has 
been  spurred  to  his  best  endeavor,  and  restrained 
from  a  mean  or  ignoble  act,  by  the  flashing  across 
his  mind  of  the  name  ami  figure  of  one  of  his  here 
in  history  or  in  fiction.  A  man  of  science,  who  him- 
self did  good  work  in  physics,  told  me  that,  when- 
ever he  scamped  an  experiment,  he  saw  the  grave, 
reproving  eyes  of  Faraday  lixed  upon  him. 


230  PSYCHOLOGY  FOR  TEACHERS 

There  is  one  influence  on  character  and  conduct  of 
which  I  have  not  spoken,  and  of  which  I  feel  it  diffi- 
cult to  speak — the  religious  influence.  It  is  a  matter 
on  which  it  is  easy  not  to  say  the  right  thing — to  say, 
rather,  what  may  not  be  helpful,  and  may  lead  to 
misunderstanding,  even  if  it  do  not  give  offence.  I 
shall  therefore  content  myself  with  one  or  two  re- 
marks, with  the  object  of  bringing  this  influence  into 
line  with  our  mode  of  regarding  the  subject.  First, 
let  me  say,  then,  that  any  great  religion,  worthy  the 
name,  presents  a  concrete  personal  embodiment  of 
the  ideal  self.  For  the  Christian,  Christ  is  the  type 
of  the  perfect  self,  and  the  imitation  of  Christ  is  a 
means  to  the  attainment  of  self-realization.  And  for 
him  Christ's  teaching  embodies,  in  essential  outline, 
the  fundamental  relationships  which  characterize  the 
ideal  community.  Until  he  learn  the  lesson  that  an- 
tagonistic self-assertion,  or  class  assertion,  must  be 
subordinated  to  the  mutual  self-sacrifice  which  is 
necessary  for  co-operation,  we  shall  never  practically 
solve  the  social  problems  not  only  of  our  own  time, 
but  of  all  time.  Secondly,  I  would  say  that  the 
essence  of  religious  teaching,  in  so  far  as  it  is  in- 
fluential upon  character  and  conduct,  is  rather  the 
development  of  what  we  may  term  the  religious  atti- 
tude, than  the  formulation  or  acceptance  of  religious 
creeds.  Assuming  as  granted  the  existence  of  a  power 
or  central  activity,  whether  immanent  or  external, 
of  which  the  world  in  which  we  live  is  the  phenom- 
enal manifestation,  I  say  that  the  essential  feature 
of  our  relation  to  that  power  is  not  the  intellectual 
attitude  of  accepting  this  or  that  formula,  but  the 
religious  attitude  of  submission   and  humility  ;    of 


CHARACTER  AND  CONDUCT  231 

reverence  of  all  that  is  noble,  pure,  and  honorable, 
as  the  highest  expression  of  God's  will.  For  we 
clothe  the  conception  of  an  energizing  activity  with 
our  highest  and  most  sublime  ideals,  and  name  Him, 
in  humility  and  reverence,  God.  And  when  we  en- 
deavor to  realize  our  highest  ideals  of  personal  con- 
duct and  character  in  relation  to  our  fellow-men,  we 
do  so,  if  the  religious  attitude  is  influential  on  con- 
duct, not  only  for  their  own  sake,  but  as  duties 
which  are  sanctioned  by  religion. 

Finally,  let  me  once  more  say  that  our  desire  to 
lead  a  wise,  right,  and  religious  life  must  be  inex- 
tricably inwoven  into  the  mental  background  which, 
as  we  have  seen,  is  the  seat  of  the  character.  And 
let  us  remember  that  in  every  act  of  our  lives,  no 
matter  how  trivial,  we  are  laying  the  foundation  of 
all  our  future  conduct.  As  Miss  Edith  Simcox  has 
said,  "  Does  it  seem  a  trifling  thing  to  say  that  in 
hours  of  passionate  trial  or  temptation  a  man  can  have 
no  better  help  than  his  own  past  ?  Every  generous 
feeling  that  has  not  been  crushed,  every  wholesome 
impulse  that  has  been  followed,  every  just  perception, 
every  habit  of  unselfish  action,  will  be  present  in 
the  background  to  guide  and  to  restrain.  It  is  too 
late  when  the  storm  has  burst  to  provide  our  craft 
with  rigging  fit  to  weather  it ;  but  we  may  find 
a  purpose  for  the  years  which  oppress  us  by  their 
dull  calm,  if  we  elect  to  spend  them  in  laying  up 
stores  of  strength  and  wisdom  and  emotional  preju- 
dices of  a  goodly  human  kind,  whereby,  if  need  arises, 
we  may  be  able  to  resist  hereafter  the  gusts  of  pas- 
sion that  might  else  bear  us  out  of  the  straightfor- 
ward chosen  course." 


NOTES 

P.  15.  "  Generic  idea."  The  reader  may  profitably  ask 
himself  how  far  the  visual  idea  suggested  by  such  a  word 
as  "  primrose  "  is  particular  and  how  far  generic.  He  may 
find  that  the  word  suggests  the  visual  image  of  a  primrose 
growing  in  a  particular  bed  of  a  garden  familiar  in  child- 
hood, and  may  be  disposed  to  regard  the  image  as  particu- 
lar. But  scarcely  any  two  individual  primrose  flowers  are 
exactly  alike.  If,  however,  the  visual  idea  is,  strictly 
speaking,  particular,  it  is  the  representation  of  one  par- 
ticular primrose  flower.     This  is  seldom  the  case. 

P.  19.  "  It  results  from  .  .  .  associated."  The  "  first," 
"  secondly,"  and  "  lastly  "  are  not  here  intended  to  indicate 
necessarily  the  order  of  procedure  in  time.  They  serve  to 
express  what  would  seem  to  be  a  logical  order  of  procedure. 

Pp.  44  and  153.  In  considering  the  nature  of  interest, 
the  statements  on  these  two  pages  must  be  taken  together. 
Even  so  they  are  no  doubt  inadequate.  The  reader  should 
ask  himself  what  are  the  psychological  conditions  of  in- 
terest. 

That  which  has  little  or  no  connection  with  our  experi- 
ence or  knowledge  possesses  for  us  little  or  no  interest.  On 
the  other  hand,  that  which  is  so  connected  draws  into  the 
margin  of  consciousness,  by  suggestion,  some  of  the  re- 
presentative elements  with  which  it  is  related.  It  forms 
the  nucleus  of  a  closely  interrelated  field  of  consciousness. 
This  is  the  sense  in  which  the  statement  in  the  text  on 
p.  44  is  to  be  taken  ;  the  statement  on  p.  153  indicating 
the  accompaniment  of  emotional  tone.  On  this  foundation 
the  reader  should  build  by  drawing  from  the  stores  of  hi* 
own  experience. 

233 


234  NOTES 

P.  82.  The  distinction  between  quantity  and  number  is 
perhaps  unfamiliar,  especially  to  those  unacquainted  with 
physics.  The  following  quotation  from  Professor  Clerk 
Maxwell's  article  ;'  Atom"  in  the  Encyclopaedia  Britannica 
(ninth  ed.,  vol.  iii.  p.  37),  will  serve  to  make  it  clearer. 
"  It  is  probable  that  the  first  exact  notions  of  quantity  were 
founded  on  the  consideration  of  number.  It  is  by  the  help 
of  numbers  that  concrete  quantities  are  practically  meas- 
ured and  calculated.  Now,  number  is  discontinuous.  We 
pass  from  one  number  [whole  or  fractional]  to  the  next  per 
saltum.  The  magnitudes,  on  the  other  hand,  which  we 
meet  with  in  geometry,  are  essentially  continuous." 
Though  this  distinction  is  by  no  means  always  carefully 
preserved,  it  should  be  clearly  grasped.  A  line  5*55  inches 
long  is  continuous  ;  in  measuring  it  we  break  it  up  (a  mat- 
ter of  distinguishing  analysis, — see  p.  100)  into  5  units  of 
one  inch  +  5  tenths  of  that  unit,  +  5  hundredths  of  the 
unit.  The  line  is  a  continuous  quantity,  the  measurement 
of  which  is  expressed  in  numerical  terms. 

Pp.  101,  104,  110.  That  conception  and  the  formation  of 
general  ideas  are  fully  conscious,  intentional,  and  voluntary 
processes,  will  by  some  be  regarded  as  open  to  question.  No 
doubt  there  is  a  preconceptual  stage,  prior  to  the  fully  con- 
ceptual stage  here  described.  No  doubt  the  term  general 
idea  may  be  applied,  loosely  as  I  think,  to  the  products  of 
this  earlier  stage.  It  is,  however,  none  the  less  true  that 
the  more  perfect  the  concept,  the  more  fully  is  it  the  result 
of  a  fully  conscious  process  intentionally  directed  to  the 
end  of  rendering  it  clear  as  a  concept.  In  the  process  of 
development  there  probably,  in  many  cases,  intervenes  be- 
tween the  generic  idea  and  the  concept,  the  employment 
of  the  name  for  the  generic  idea  used  as  a  symbol,  the  full 
meaning  of  which  is  not  realized  until  thought  is,  at  a  later 
period,  focused  upon  it. 

P.  113.  Whether  we  can  form  particular  abstract  ideas 
is  perhaps  open  to  discussion.  Unquestionably  it  is  often 
through  the  mental  interference,  so  to  speak,  of  many  par- 
ticulars that  some  quality  becomes  more  or  less  detached 
from  others  so  as  to  be  first  predominant  and  eventually 


NOTES  235 

abstract.  It  may  even  be  said  that  this  is  generally  a  fac- 
tor in  the  process  by  which  abstract  ideas  are  reached.  But 
is  it  essential  ?  If,  however,  the  statement  in  the  text  leads 
to  introspective  questioning,  it  will  have  served  its  pur- 
pose. 

P.  117.  "We  are  not  .  .  .  concept  circle."  If  We  wish 
to  give  a  generalized  description,  say  of  the  dog,  we  either 
describe  a  particular  dog  taken  as  representative  of  hie 
kind,  or  we  describe  what  we  regard  as  the  distinctive 
characteristics  of  this  kind  of  animal.  In  the  former  case 
we  are  describing  a  particular  dog  taken  as  the  type ;  in 
the  latter  we  are,  in  effect,  defining  the  species. 

P.  136.  "  All  laws  are  enactments,"  etc.  This  breaks  the 
first  rule  of  the  syllogism,  that  there  should  be  three  terms 
only.  For,  since  the  word  law  is  used  in  two  senses,  it 
stands  for  two  terms,  and  there  are  four  terms  instead  of 
three.  Technically,  therefore,  this  is  a  case  of  the  "  fallacy 
of  four  terms,"  and  is  an  example  of  "the  ambiguous 
middle." 

P.  143.  In  saying  that  "the  background  in  which  the 
object  is  set  is,  at  any  given  moment,  the  representative  of 
all  the  potentiality  of  the  mind,"  the  meaning  is  that  the 
impression  or  idea,  as  focal  nucleus,  aggregates  around 
itself,  through  suggestion,  a  number  of  interrelated  re- 
presentative elements ;  and  that  the  nature  of  the  back- 
ground so  constituted  is  determined  by  the  whole  proce 
of  mental  development — subject,  of  course,  to  the  condi- 
tions of  health  and  mental  vigor  of  the  moment  in  question. 

P.  148.  "The  emotions,  then,  .  .  .  the  other."  Nothing 
is  here  said  concerning  the  part  played  by  the  psychical 
data  afforded  by  the  disturbed  action  of  the  heart,  respira- 
tory organs,  digestive  organs,  glands,  and  so  forth,  in  pro- 
ducing the  states  of  consciousness  we  term  emotional. 
Their  role  in  the  primary  genesis  of  emotional  states  is  dis- 
cussed in  chapter  ix.  of  my  work  on  Habit  and  Instinct, 
Any  such  discussion  would  here  be  out  of  place. 

P.  155.  "It  is  that  which  in  its  varied  phases  is  some- 
times termed  insight"  etc.  The  distinction  between  in- 
tuition and  inference  should  be  clearly  grasped.     In  infer- 


236  NOTES 

ence  the  logical  relations  are  rendered  explicit ;  in  intuition 
they  remain  implicit.  The  former  is  a  fully  conscious 
process  as  such ;  in  the  latter  the  process,  as  such,  is  sub- 
conscious. The  results  of  the  two  processes  may,  however, 
be  similar. 

P.  170.  The  relation  of  the  word,  such  as  an  abstract 
noun,  to  the  concept  is  one  which  the  reader  should  care- 
fully think  out  for  himself.  Such  a  word  may  be  regarded 
as  a  centre  or  nucleus  of  divergent  conceptual  association. 
The  concept  is  thus  largely  a  matter  of  mental  background, 
and  is  often  rather  potential  than  actual ;  that  is  to  say,  we 
do  not  pause  to  unfold  the  conceptual  implications.  One 
may  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  it  is  impossible  fully  to  realize 
a  concept  in  a  single  moment  of  consciousness.  It  is  like  a 
check  or  draft  which  can  be  cashed  if  there  is  money  in 
the  bank  to  meet  the  demand.  The  question  may  be  asked  : 
Is  there  always  present  to  the  mind  an  impression  or  a 
sense-idea,  such,  for  example,  as  the  word  "triangle"  or 
the  symbol  ^;  asa  nucleus  of  the  concept  ? 


INDEX. 


Abstract  ideas,  19,  21, 113. 

Abstraction,  112;  relation  of,  to 
analysis  and  generalization,  113. 

Activity-feelings,  145. 

^Esthetic  tone,  158,  198. 

Analysis,  3,  49,  72  ;  dissociating,  93  ; 
distinguishing,  94  ;  nature  of,  94  ; 
subjective,  96  ;  relation  to  per- 
ception, 97  ;  in  spelling  and  pro- 
nunciation, 99 ;  relation  of  ab- 
straction to,  112 ;  of  sentences, 
172. 

Anger,  emotional  tone  of,  146,  147. 

Angles,  quantitative  perception  of 
their  value,  84. 

Appreciation  in  literature,  185-186, 
197. 

Apprehension,  119. 

Approbation  and  disapprobation, 

Art-work  of  literature  and  science, 
205. 

Articulation,  195. 

Artist,  function  of,  225. 

Artistic  temperament,  222. 

Association,  laws  of,  26;  contiguity, 
26 ;  divergent  and  convergent, 
33 ;  similarity  and  resemblance, 
38,  157 ;  influence  of  marginal 
conditions,  43  ;  simultaneous,  44. 

Assumption  involved  in  definition 
of  natural  law,  122. 

At-sight  reading,  197. 

Attention,  4,  10,  45  ;  divided,  11. 

Attraction  of  gravitation  defined, 
122. 

Automatic  actions,  50. 

Automatism,  inherited,  61,  67 ; 
secondary,  61,  68. 

Background,  mental,  48  ;  the  seat 
of  the  character,  142 ;  intluence 
of,  in  aesthetics,  199  ;  relational 
nature  of,  206 ;  influence  of,  on 
character  and  conduct.  896. 

Balance,  experiments  with,  127. 

"  Because  "  symbolic  of  logical  re- 
lation, 117. 

Blackmore,  Mr.  R.  D.,  quoted,  195. 


Body  and  mind  compared,  138. 

Botany,  value  of,  for  analysis,  95  ; 
for  apprehension  and  descrip- 
tion, 125. 

Browning,  Robert,  quoted,  194, 
199,  227,  228. 

Character  and  conduct,  212. 

Chemistry,  value  of,  127. 

Classification,  80,  111. 

Cognition,  22,  145 ;  in  literary  ap- 
preciation, 197. 

Coleridge  quoted,  205. 

Communication,  indicative,  161  ; 
descriptive,  162. 

Community,  the  ideal,  216. 

Composition,  173. 

Comprehension,  119. 

Concept,  22:  relation  of,  to  percept, 
108. 

Conception,  20.  102  ;  relation  of,  to 
perception,  103,  105 ;  to  knowl- 
edge, 106 ;  and  quantitative  re- 
lations, 106. 

Conclusion  of  syllogism,  133. 

Conclusions,  jumping  to,  159. 

Conduct  and  character,  212. 

Consciousness,  state  of,  2 ;  focus 
and  margin  of,  4. 

Consentience,  78. 

Contiguity,  law  of,  26. 

Control,  50,  52,  58 ;  essentially 
motor,  148,  150  ;  in  conduct,  214. 

Co-ordination,  51,  58,  67.  70. 

Correlation,  51,  52,  54,  56,  57,  60,  67. 

Cramming,  141. 

Crucial  observation  or  experiment, 
129. 

Dates,  value  of,  182. 

Deduction,  135. 

Definition,  111  ;  and  description, 
117. 

Demonstration,  151. 

Description,  involves  particular  re- 
lations, 116;  and  definition,  117: 
involves  analysis.  119  ;  precursor 
to  explanation,  198  :  relation  of, 
to  observation,  124,  196,  164. 


238 


INDEX. 


Desire,  ideal  self  an  object  of,  215. 

Development,  mental  and  bodily, 
analogous,  138 ;  should  be  all- 
round,  141. 

De  Vere,  Aubrey  (the  younger), 
quoted,  212. 

Diagrammatic  repres entation, 
method  of,  177. 

Direction,  sense  of,  7. 

Disapprobation,  221. 

Discontent  a  spur  to  endeavor,  151. 

Distance  element  in  vision,  54. 

Distinguishing  analysis,  93  ;  rela- 
tion of,  to  abstraction,  112. 

Dread,  emotional  tone  of,  148. 

Duty,  210. 

Ear,  appeal  of  literature  to  the, 
193. 

Earth,  rotation  of,  proved,  130. 

Earth-moon  system,  rotation  of, 
illustrated,  129. 

Education  begins  in  nursery,  160. 

Elocution,  186,  194. 

Emotional  aspect  of  consciousness, 
146  ;  tone,  146 ;  aesthetic,  198. 

Examination  in  literature,  what  it 
tests,  188. 

Example  and  precept,  224. 

Expectations,  29. 

Experience,  49,  56,  68, 76;  subjective 
and  objective  aspect  of,  7'2  ;  and 
abstract  thought,  113. 

Experiment,  nature  of,  126 ;  cru- 
cial, 129. 

Explanation  involves  generaliza- 
tion, 117  ;  nature  of,  118  ;  involves 
analysis,  119  ;  not  ultimate,  121  ; 
involves  assumptions,  123  ;  rela- 
tion of,  to  description  and  ob- 
servation, 126. 

Exposition,  description  and  ex- 
planation in,  123. 

Eye-movements  of  value  in  esti- 
mating length,  83, 177. 

Faculty,  18. 

Fallacies,  136. 

Feeling,  145. 

Field,  of  touch,  53  ;  of  vision,  53  ; 
of  experience,  55. 

Focus  of  consciousness  defined,  4  : 
differentiation  from  margin  pre- 
paratory to  analysis,  94. 

Foreign  languages,  study  of,  174. 

Foucault's  pendulum,  131. 

French  and  German,  175. 

Games,  value  of,  64,  152. 
General  ideas,  101. 
Generalization,  20,  100. 
Generic  ideas,  15,  38,  110. 
Geography,  value  of,  183. 


Geology  as  descriptive,  124. 
Geometry,  177. 
German  and  French,  175. 
Good  form,  225. 
Grammar,  172. 
Graphic  method,  181. 
Gravitation,  121,  122. 
Greek,  value  of,  175. 

Habit,  61. 

Harmony  in  literature,  198. 

Hero-worship,  226. 

History,  value  of,  181,  225. 

"  How  "  attitude,  154. 

How  ?  requires  descriptive  answer, 

115. 
Hypotheses,  nature  of,  129. 

Ideal,  literary,  202 ;  social,  217,  218; 

self,  215  ;  community,  218. 
Idealism  in  literature,  190. 
Ideas  of  sense  defined,  12,  66 ;  of 
relation,   17,  89  ;  generic,  6,  38 ; 
abstract,  19  ;  general,  101,  102. 
Imagination,  48,  155  ;  creative,  156, 
158,  189 ;   receptive,  186,  189  ;  ac- 
tive and  passive,  189  ;  artistic,  in- 
ventive, and  scientific,  189. 
Imitation,  151. 

Impression  defined,  5,  66;  of  special 
senses,  6  ;  motor,  7  ;  internal,  9  ; 
of  direction,  7  ;  of  relation,  17, 89. 
Impulse,    sympathetic,    221  ;    im- 
pulsive activity,  150,  213. 
Indicative  communication,  161. 
Individuality,  189. 
Induction,  135. 
Inexplicable    observations,    value 

of,  169. 
Information,  152. 

Inheritance,  56,  58 ;  what  we   in- 
herit, 143. 
Innate  tendencies,  145. 
Insight,  155. 
Inspiration,  155. 
Instinctive  activities,  144. 
Instruction  in  skill,  151. 
Intellectual  process,  aesthetic  tone, 

associated  with,  199. 
Interaction     of     perception     and 
analysis,  97;   of  perception  and 
conception,  105,  109,  113 ;  of  ob- 
servation,    apprehension,     and 
comprehension,  126. 
Interest,  44,  153. 
Interpretation  of  nature,  literary 

and  scientific,  204. 
Inter-relation  of  knowledge,  169. 
Introspection,    2,    71  ;    deals  with 
past  experience,  77  ;  and  subject- 
ive analysis,  96. 
Intuition,  155. 
Intuitive  procedure.  158. 


INDEX. 


239 


Judgment,  nature  of,  190,  202,  221  ; 
logical  and  literary,  compared, 

203  ;  on  character,  215. 

Kindergarten,  164. 
Knowledge,   in    what    it  consists, 
106,  169. 

Language,  atmosphere  of,  160  ;  a 
symbolic  expression  of  thought, 
106;  the  medium  of  the  com- 
munication of  knowledge,  170; 
of  literature,  171  ;  of  science, 
171  ;  foreign,  study  of,  174. 

Lai  iu,  value  of,  174. 

Laws  of  nature  generalizations  and 
definitions,  122. 

Learning  by  rote,  34. 

Lever,  experiments  with,  127. 

Literature,  185 ;  and  science.  192, 

204  ;  varieties  of,  192  ;  as  afford- 
ing ideals  of  conduct,  225. 

Localization  in  space,  183  ;  localiza- 
tion in  time,  182. 

Logic  the  afterthought  to  insight, 
158. 

Logical  relations,  131  ;  perceived 
and  conceived  in  reasoning,  136. 

Lowell  quoted,  186,  190. 

Macaulay  quoted,  200. 

Mannerism  to  be  avoided,  195 

Margin  of  consciousness  defined,  4; 
correlation  effected  in,  57;  dif- 
ferentiation of  focus  from,  pre- 
paratory to  analysis,  94. 

Mathematics,  176. 

Meaning  and  significance.  169. 

Melody  in  literature,  relations  in- 
volved in,  196. 

Melody  of  prose,  195. 

Memory,  25. 

Mind  and  body  compared,  138. 

Ministry  of  teacher,  aims  of,  210. 

Moon,  swing  of,  round  the  earth 
illustrated,  189 

Moral  motives,  218. 

Motives  of  conduct,  214. 

Motor  impressions,  7  ;  ideas,  13. 

Movement  for  vision  and  for  motor 
sensation  correlated,  64. 

Mozart  quoted,  201 

Natural  law,  generalizations  from 
experience  and  definitions,  182. 

Natural  synthesis.  f>:t.  189. 

Nature,  interpretation  of,  literary 
and  scientific,  804. 

Neighbor,  duty  to,  819. 

Numerical  relations,  88. 

Object  in  psychology,  74.  17. 
Objective  aspect  of  experience,  72, 

76. 


Observation,  relation  of.  to  de- 
scription, l~i.  126,  164:  and  ex- 
planation, 1~»'>  :  crucial.  129: 
necessary  both  in  literature  and 
science,  209. 

Organic  conditions,  of  memory,  26; 
of  consciousness,  180,  148. 

Pain, 147. 

Pendulum,  experiment  with,  138; 
Foucault's,  131. 

Tercept,  22,  91,  99;  relation  of,  to 
concept,  108. 

Perception,  17,  69,  74;  compound, 
85;  training  of,  79;  deals  with 
particular  relations,  89  ;  relation 
of,  to  analysis,  98;  to  conception, 
103,  105  ;  to  knowledge,  106. 

Physics,  value  of,  127. 

Pictures  and  association,  81  ;  as  a 
means  of  communication,  Hi:5. 

Pity,  emotional  tone  of,  147. 

Pleasure  and  pain,  117. 

Poetry,  its  suggestive  nature,  207. 

Precept  and  example,  284. 

Predicate  of  proposition.  132. 

Predominance  in  analysis,  95;  in 
perception,  97. 

Predominant  leading  up  to  ab- 
stract ideas,  21 . 

Premises  of  syllogism,  188. 

Presentative  and  re-presentauve 
defined,  12,  66. 

Promptings  of  impulse,  21  L 

Pronunciation,  correlations  in,  70; 
analysis  of,  99. 

Proposition,  nature  of,  132  ;  of 
syllogism  described,  183. 

Provincialism  and  mannerism  to  be 
avoided,  196. 

Prudential  motives,  218. 

Psychological  import  of  subjects 
commonly  taught,  1?2. 

Psychology  defined,  8. 

Punishment,  37. 

Quantitative  relations,  81. 

Rational,  what  determines  when 
the  child  becomes.  188-165. 

Reading  aloud,  187;  and  writing, 
166. 

Realism  in  literature,  191. 

Reason,  the  ballast  to  imagination, 
15S. 

Reason  and  reasoning  defined.  186. 

Receptivity.  168. 

Recitation,  importance  of.  18 

Recollection^  28  ;  the  art  of,  16. 

Record-ecrolls  cor  time  localiza- 
tion. 16 

Reflection,  77.  108. 

Retlex  actions,  50. 


240 


INDEX. 


Relations,  17,  75 ;  quantitative,  81  ; 
numerical,  82  ;  logical,  117  ;  emo- 
tional tone  associated  with,  198. 

Religious  attitude,  230. 

Religious  influence,  230. 

Remembrance,  26. 

Re-presentative  defined,  12,  66. 

Resemblance,  suggestion  by,  38. 

Retentiveness,  26. 

Retrospection,  78. 

Reverie,  nature  of,  48. 

Rewards  and  punishments,  36. 

Right,  219. 

Rotation  of  earth,  Foucault's  cru- 
cial experiment,  130. 

Science,  in  mental  training,  189 ; 
and  literature,  191,  204. 

Scientism,  206. 

Self,  the  ideal,  215. 

Self-consistence  in  the  products  of 
the  imagination,  158. 

Self-control,  149,  151. 

Sencept,  22,  91,  144. 

Sensation  and  sensations,  17. 

Sense  of  direction,  7. 

Sense-experience,  17,  78 ;  relation 
of,  to  perception,  99 ;  to  knowl- 
edge, 106  ;  to  percept  and  con- 
cept, 109. 

Sense-fading,  24,  25 ;  value  of,  in 
perceiving  time-relations,  87. 

Sense-ideas,  13. 

Sense-impressions,  6. 

Sensing,  as  a  technical  term,  78. 

Shakespeare  quoted,  201. 

Significance,  direct  and  indirect, 
168. 

Simcox,  Miss  Edith,  quoted,  231. 

Similarity,  suggestion  by,  38,  157. 

Similarity  and  dissimilarity,  80. 

Skill,  10,  52,  60,  62,  66. 

Slojd,  value  of,  63,  83. 

Snubbing,  159. 

Social  ideal,  defined.  204 ;  of  con- 
duct, 219,  222. 

Social  influence,  212. 

Space,  localization,  183. 

Space-relation,  perception  of 
linear,  83  ;  superficial  area,  85  ; 
cubical  volume,  86. 

Spelling,  analysis  and  synthesis  of, 
32,  99. 

Spelling  reforms,  100. 

Standard,  literary  or  ideal,  202. 

Stimuli,  50. 

Subconscious  elements,  4  ;  correla- 
tion, 57,  70. 


Subject  in  psychology,  74  ;  of  pre- 
position, 132. 

Subjective  analysis,  96. 

Subjective  aspect  of  experience, 
72,  76. 

Suggestion,  by  resemblance,  38 ;  by 
contrast,  39 ;  by  similarity,  40 ; 
in  poetry,  40  ;  in  science,  41. 

Suspense,  figure  of,  200. 

Syllogism,  133. 

Sympathetic  impulses,  221,  224. 

Sympathy,  36,  220. 

Synthesis,  mental,  involuntary, 
53  ;  natural,  139  ;  as  the  comple- 
ment to  analysis,  voluntary,  99. 

Teacher,  office  of  the,  140,  210,  222. 

Technical  instruction,  value  and 
danger  of,  206. 

Technical  terms,  171. 

Tennyson  quoted,  40,  41.  185,  190, 
202. 

Terms,  technical,  171. 

"Therefore"  symbolic  of  logical 
relation,  117  ;  dependent  on  uni- 
formity of  nature,  of  thought, 
and  of  terminology,  135. 

Thought,  involves  conception,  105  ; 
and  experience,  113 ;  unity  of, 
169. 

Time-localization,  169. 

Time-relations,  perception  of,  86  ; 
translated  into  space-relations, 
89. 

Tradition,  oral  and  pictorial,  164. 

Transitions  in  consciousness,  16,  76. 

Understanding,  119. 
Uniformity    of    nature,    135 ;     of 
thought,  and  of  terminology,  135. 

Vision,  field  of,  motor  elements  in, 

58. 
Volition,  149. 

Watson,  Mr.  Wm.,  quoted,  207. 

Whitman  quoted,  196. 

"Why  "attitude,  154. 

Why  ?  requires  explanatory 
answer,  115. 

Will,  the,  58,  149,  152. 

Words,  association  of,  with  impres- 
sions, 30  ;  for  relations  perceived 
and  conceived  the  same,  104,  108, 
109  ;  an  aid  to  classification,  111  ; 
and  sencepts,  160. 

Wordsworth  quoted,  197,  201. 

Written  record,  165. 


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